


Under The Falling Skies

by Dean-Bangs-Cas-In-The-Impala (Maknatuna)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Blowjobs, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Captured Castiel, Castiel is Dean's boy toy, Castiel was a dick, Drama, Gladiator Dean, Groping, Karma is a Bitch, M/M, Now it's Dean's time to be a dick, Past Lives, Prince Castiel, Prisoner Castiel, Reincarnation, Romance, Spanking, There is a brief non-con scene in later chapters, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Warrior Dean, Which does not proceed, barbarian dean, dub-con, noble Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 46
Words: 96,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1572452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maknatuna/pseuds/Dean-Bangs-Cas-In-The-Impala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, Dean." The king clears his throat, looking at the barbarian who's eating a chicken's leg and scratching his belly with a contented face. "To end this conflict, I am offering you one of my daughters in marriage, so we can become allies and good friends. Choose whichever you want." The king gestures to his three daughters, all maidens of rare beauty.<br/>Dean belches loudly and pats his belly, causing loud laughter among his warriors. He takes a good look at the princesses, shifting his gaze from one to the other.<br/>"I appreciate your offer, King Uldred, and I will accept it. Though I don't want any of your daughters," he says with a broad grin.<br/>The king frowns. "I don't understand."<br/>"I want him." Dean points at the young prince with his gnawed chicken's leg. "I'll have Castiel."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my third historical multi chapter fic. I'd also suggest reading Chasing Your Shadow and Over The Hills And Far Away.
> 
> Beta’d by Zana Zira. Thank you, darling!!!

Dean's and Castiel's manips are done by amazing  **[irensupernatural](http://irensupernatural.tumblr.com/) ** and enormous thanks to her for that! Links to the used images: [X](https://www.google.ge/search?newwindow=1&q=ancient+rome&tbm=isch&tbs=simg:CAQSigEahwELEKjU2AQaAggCDAsQsIynCBpgCl4IAxIo7x3rHeod5RTtHdEUjxXuHfAd5x3BKtw42TiYK9g4nivZKto42ziuKhowKl76HkMu7vZE2qc4Zvl0g4Y_1oJIqtY4dPnhVYDF3vZa_1s_1joZnrfGXRWqIgmE4EqDAsQjq7-CBoKCggIARIEosSlRgw&sa=X&ved=0CBcQwg4oAGoVChMIy6Xk-KTbxwIVQTkaCh36jg4O&biw=960&bih=523#imgrc=A3ijnjYvNc6iBM%3A) [X](https://www.google.ge/search?newwindow=1&q=roman+gladiator&tbm=isch&imgil=4kGXIQcfWkkpNM%253A%253ByiCGCHHKSMN0IM%253Bhttp%25253A%25252F%25252Fpadfield.com%25252Fbible-times%25252Fgladiators-chariots%25252Findex.html&source=iu&pf=m&tbs=simg:CAES0wEa0AELEKjU2AQaAggFDAsQsIynCBpfCl0IAxInuw-gFb4P3BkN4g_1AD8MPwg_1QD_103mzaXOoI4gi3AJI0-uzb3N5ItGjCEVIyPnvpc9zCD06Jje6uDtaygPUE03xhiFzxt7xIA8ckxMYbr18ww1EJmKDMUGckMCxCOrv4IGgoKCAgBEgRCOJxDDAsQne3BCRpBCgsKCXNjdWxwdHVyZQoICgZtdXNjbGUKBQoDYXJtCgoKCG1hdGVyaWFsChUKE2NvbnN0cnVjdGlvbiB3b3JrZXIM&fir=4kGXIQcfWkkpNM%253A%252CyiCGCHHKSMN0IM%252C_&biw=960&bih=523&usg=__Abvfh1ly88oaPLmlz7Ua0ECo-xg%3D&ved=0CEEQyjdqFQoTCPiS9NKl28cCFUguGgodHjAMDw&ei=g3boVbjFEsjcaJ7gsHg#imgrc=4kGXIQcfWkkpNM%3A&usg=__Abvfh1ly88oaPLmlz7Ua0ECo-xg%3D) [X](https://www.google.ge/search?newwindow=1&q=keresztre+fesz%C3%ADt%C3%A9s&tbm=isch&imgil=CcZVuWNfow2dLM%253A%253B6cYrpwKW__k-DM%253Bhttp%25253A%25252F%25252Fmult-kor.hu%25252F20140512_keresztre_feszites_az_okortol_a_mai_sziriaig%25253FpIdx%2525253D2&source=iu&pf=m&tbs=simg:CAESrgEaqwELEKjU2AQaAggCDAsQsIynCBpgCl4IAxIovxWlFaQVvhWmFZIV1QrqCtMKyRbiKZQ45iS3Otc-yyvALdUr1D64Ohowm33BtbJSWOwPtVa9AGXXVuIt0yQAtDAFikuCIdH6rBKRwsQ_1SDuq1XbeOsgfEa_1qDAsQjq7-CBoKCggIARIE_1EA1pgwLEJ3twQkaGwoGCgR0cmVlCgkKB3NhdmFubmEKBgoEY3JvcAw&fir=CcZVuWNfow2dLM%253A%252C6cYrpwKW__k-DM%252C_&biw=960&bih=523&usg=__hBZqD2EIfGakRa6VrbGba2rvzTs%3D&ved=0CEEQyjdqFQoTCKiNgdam28cCFQm1GgodPcsFEw&ei=lnfoVajqDonqar2Wl5gB#imgrc=CcZVuWNfow2dLM%3A&usg=__hBZqD2EIfGakRa6VrbGba2rvzTs%3D) [X ](https://www.google.ge/search?newwindow=1&q=under+the+cross&tbm=isch&imgil=ju9th19z0ptvgM%253A%253BHhQrhi5HX-9FOM%253Bhttp%25253A%25252F%25252Fwww.shutterstock.com%25252Fth%25252Fvideo%25252Fclip-4284974-stock-footage-silhouette-of-man-praying-under-the-cross-at-sunset-sunsrise.html&source=iu&pf=m&tbs=simg:CAESswEasAELELCMpwgaXgpcCAMSJrAOrw4uLYcEww6HC6EZhQuEC7o37yzuLLw3wDfbKL83uzftKOwsGjAt9T437aPuGGC3V4PDgdwTavW-ivVnUjh_1_12yMYwjvtl8cgcdPAMrj4nkK1y7L8esMCxCOrv4IGgoKCAgBEgSOVtTLDAsQne3BCRotCgcKBWNyb3NzCgwKCnNpbGhvdWV0dGUKCgoIc3VubGlnaHQKCAoGc3ltYm9sDA&fir=ju9th19z0ptvgM%253A%252CHhQrhi5HX-9FOM%252C_&biw=960&bih=523&usg=__rgvP-tm_MkqZRvN3sAo9ow_s-9M%3D&ved=0CEMQyjdqFQoTCPqZ_vGm28cCFcE7GgodDbUPEQ&ei=0HfoVfrxN8H3aI3qvogB#imgrc=ju9th19z0ptvgM%3A&usg=__rgvP-tm_MkqZRvN3sAo9ow_s-9M%3D)[X](https://www.google.ge/search?newwindow=1&q=brad+pitt+troy&tbm=isch&imgil=KPcAptwNIjfXaM%253A%253BPLIFgrZPZpPo7M%253Bhttp%25253A%25252F%25252Fwww.people.com%25252Fpeople%25252Fnews%25252Fcategory%25252F0%25252C%25252CMediaProductsTax%25253AMovieTroy%25252C00.html&source=iu&pf=m&tbs=simg:CAESxgEawwELEKjU2AQaBggACD0IQgwLELCMpwgaYApeCAMSKPsZ9Q-wGrQaqR_1zGcIashr7HvkPxzrWOqM_1qi_1VOq8vpD_1PLoAlqy8aMGvxPPZqZCo_1Fo2Oy48Yx63rEQvw14ePzierzJZB94iraOxx_1E8gQ6C53VbepP0D7AwLEI6u_1ggaCgoICAESBHmYnVkMCxCd7cEJGi8KCAoGcGVyc29uCgUKA21hbgoICgZtdXNjbGUKCwoJaGFpcnN0eWxlCgUKA2FybQw&fir=KPcAptwNIjfXaM%253A%252CPLIFgrZPZpPo7M%252C_&biw=960&bih=523&usg=__bbtKjaCK-p2HwpsPs8Z18VjyX7I%3D&ved=0CEUQyjdqFQoTCLz-7oun28cCFUIIGgodG3YJEQ&ei=B3joVfzeC8KQaJvspYgB#imgrc=KPcAptwNIjfXaM%3A&usg=__bbtKjaCK-p2HwpsPs8Z18VjyX7I%3D) [X](https://www.google.ge/search?newwindow=1&q=brad+pitt+troy&tbm=isch&imgil=zgGc06KsV2KmHM%253A%253B2FVb6lDpw5ARxM%253Bhttp%25253A%25252F%25252Frogewu.comyr.com%25252Fbrad-pitt-exercise-routine-troy.php&source=iu&pf=m&tbs=simg:CAESqQEapgELEKjU2AQaBAgACD0MCxCwjKcIGmAKXggDEiieHeYYvx-8EP8ZvR-YG-oYvxymG88upj_1fOrYl4zrlOqU_1zC6RMuguGjAQRlAEyAXNQ9ipeAds67defm0r3j3tHSsGbR7VtHqCriRUCQDQrgyzcd52i0m9GkEMCxCOrv4IGgoKCAgBEgRVLub2DAsQne3BCRoUCggKBnBlcnNvbgoICgZtdXNjbGUM&fir=zgGc06KsV2KmHM%253A%252C2FVb6lDpw5ARxM%252C_&biw=960&bih=523&usg=__xKkSwlpthdjwgiecjWN6lC_zDZ4%3D&ved=0CD8QyjdqFQoTCOWA0qOn28cCFQU_GgodguQAEQ&ei=OXjoVaWAA4X-aILJg4gB#imgrc=zgGc06KsV2KmHM%3A&usg=__xKkSwlpthdjwgiecjWN6lC_zDZ4%3D) [X](https://www.google.ge/search?newwindow=1&q=eating+out+drama+camp&tbm=isch&imgil=BaxPZppOCCfZoM%253A%253BWP3_NKnOJFIrVM%253Bhttp%25253A%25252F%25252Fwww.downelink.com%25252Fdownetv%25252Fvideo.aspx%25253Fpid%2525253D109154&source=iu&pf=m&tbs=simg:CAESygEaxwELEKjU2AQaCAgCCAUIFwg9DAsQsIynCBpgCl4IAxIo0w_1mD9wP2A_1jGZ0P4hnUD_1QZmR-KO5wvmy_1WL9QvpC-JO6cwmi_1cLxowhK0p0T63JpqhZHjF0MVxjz267irtGVaWhwVT1mpVp2aRDsXxmRQscRMEgB9jHsljDAsQjq7-CBoKCggIARIEy3MzeAwLEJ3twQkaMQoOCgxodW1hbiBhY3Rpb24KCAoGcGVyc29uCgUKA21hbgoGCgRraXNzCgYKBG1hbGUM&fir=BaxPZppOCCfZoM%253A%252CWP3_NKnOJFIrVM%252C_&biw=960&bih=523&usg=__cPmaq6oUHrd5fZR-iSgYacpdPWE%3D&ved=0CD0QyjdqFQoTCN-Q89un28cCFctwGgodW-IJEQ&ei=r3joVZ_9AcvhadvEp4gB#imgrc=BaxPZppOCCfZoM%3A&usg=__cPmaq6oUHrd5fZR-iSgYacpdPWE%3D)

 

 **Important** : To make things clear. Some of you may not understand what's happening in this chapter. Let me explain: this and upcoming 4 chapters are set in ancient Rome. Why? Because it is strongly connected to Dean's and Castiel's future storylines. Quintus Atticus is reincarnated Dean and Cassius Valerius Martialis is reincarnated Castiel.

* * *

                                                                                                                     

 

**Part I - **Ave, Cæsar, morituri te salutant****

 

_O youth or young man, who fancy that you are neglected by the gods,_

_know that if you become worse, you shall go to worse souls, or if better to the better..._

_In every succession of life and death, you will do and suffer what like may fitly suffer at the hands of like._

_This is the justice of heaven. ~Plato_

 

**Rome, 110 BC**

A drunken and swaying man staggers out of an old tavern into the darkness of the night. He makes a few steps towards thick bushes, waving hands in the air to keep the balance. Too much wine and bitter food upset his stomach and the drunk man bends over the bushes, vomiting up whatever he had for supper.

The tavern is located behind the cemetery for the poor population and owned by an old, limp legionary Flavius Rufus. One can meet many and various people in the tavern while visiting it. Mostly carpenters, builders, former gladiators and whores.

A hoard of stray dogs is a usual sight here. The bones and skin of cooked animals are thrown behind the back wall of the tavern, where the hungry animals fight over them. The funny thing is that many of the dogs look fatter than those customers visiting this rat hole.

The lantern dimly lights up the entrance of the tavern. It's not hard to guess what one can expect while going inside. The first impression comes from looking at the door, which is probably hundreds of years old, cracked and half off its hinges, creaking and fraying the nerves of the visitors on windy nights.

There are small, uneven stone stairs leading down, inside the tavern so the visitors can enter a big room with wooden benches, tables and half-broken stools. The room is always filled with smoke, different scents of sweat, wine, cooking food, and sex mixed up. Drunken laughter, roaring, (though many stated they were singing) clanking of plates and cups, lewd moans and screams, half naked bodies or even worse, people fucking right on the tables is a normal thing here at this tavern, which hardly can be called a tavern.

In the wall near the kitchen where Flavius Rufus' female slaves are cooking, is a door leading to a secret room (as Flavius likes to think), where for paying additional sesterces one can engage in carnal pleasures with prostitutes of either sex. And now, the room is occupied judging by the moans and grunts coming out from behind the closed door.

A young, naked man is sitting on a poor imitation of a bed, head thrown back and thighs spread wide. One hand is gripping the wrinkled bed sheets, while the other one is resting and gently pushing against the head of a male prostitute settled between his parted legs.

"Mmm, yes, like that. Just like that. Work with your tongue….fuuuuuuck…. Take it deeper, you little dirty whore…." The man bites his lips and thrusts up into the hot mouth wrapped around his pulsing length.

Looking at the moaning man, his perfect body with chiseled muscles, strong arms, broad shoulders, and taut thighs, it's easy to guess that he is a warrior. Or was, at least.

The grip of his hand tightens in the hair of the prostitute. Green eyes filled with lust close in utter bliss and a guttural moan escapes his full, parted lips when the skillful tongue licks up the shaft, teasing the slit with the tip.  
"You like it when I fuck your pretty little mouth don't you?" The man pants and shakes his head to throw the stray strands of his long, blond hair over the shoulder. The rolls of his hips are getting faster, a clear sign of impending orgasm.

The prostitute, a beautiful young man from Greece, with brown eyes and long, dark hair just hums his agreement, sending jolts of pleasure to the receiver, making him gasp and curse aloud when a powerful and unexpected orgasm is ripped out of him.

Those strong hands grab and unceremoniously tug the prostitute's head down, impaling it on his cock, while the man shoots his release into the wet, burning heat.

"Quintus…" A muffled but desperate cry.

"My apologies, sugar. But your mouth, gods your mouth is sweet like the milk from Juno's breasts." A deep, husky voice that belongs to Quintus Atticus, rasps and a calloused hand pats the prostitute's cheek, showing what a good boy he is. He quickly stands up, gathering his clothes.

"Don't go anywhere. I am not done with you yet." He pulls the younger man to his chest, feeling the strained erection against his belly. "And, Demetrius," the man smirks, "no touching yourself. I will be back to stretch that lovely ass of yours to the limit, so you just wait for me."

Quintus kisses the man, licking into his mouth and tasting himself on the tip of his tongue. He pats Demetrius' round, delicious looking ass and grabs an amphora full of red wine. After a few gulps he leaves the room and the half naked prostitute in it.

"Oh, look who's here!" the butcher, Titus Manilius, greets him with a drunken snicker, as he tries to stay on his feet with the help of a toothless prostitute named Lutecia.

"May the gods bless you too, Titus," Quintus says amicably, raising his amphora and taking a sip. "Any new gossip you've heard lately?"

"Yes, my friend. I swear by Pluto's throne, I've heard many things." Titus nods frantically and looks around cautiously. "But there is one, which I want to share with you!"

"Enlighten me," Quintus laughs, punching the man in the shoulder playfully.

"No, not here," Titus whispers. "We should choose a dark corner. This is not for every ear. Lutecia, love of my life, you are free to go. I will call for you later." The butcher smacks the woman and the prostitute runs away cackling merrily, believing naively that she has found the man of her dreams.

They are lucky as some quarreling drunk soldiers have just vacated a table in the corner, near the front door, and Titus followed by Quintus hurry to occupy the seats. The young man puts his half-empty amphora on the table and leans on his forearms.

"So, what is it you've heard?"

"You remember the whole Jugurtha mess, don't you? Do you know why he was so favored by Romans? It appears that he bribed Lucius Calpurnius Bestia who was sent to defeat his army. Jugurtha surrendered and he was given such favorable terms that it caused a lot of doubts. Therefore he was summoned to Rome." Titus takes a greedy gulp right from the amphora, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Guess what happened later."

Quintus frowns, a slight wrinkle forming between his light brown eyebrows. "He got in some trouble?"

"Hah, no trouble my friend. He bribed two tribunes and they prevented him from testifying."

"Lucky bastard." Quintus smiles.

"And now," Titus looks around conspiratorially. "I've heard that they are sending Aulus Postimius Albinus Magnus to finally kill the man."

"Let us hope that the brother of the consul will be much luckier and succeeds." Quintus sips the drink.

"Also, there is one mor…" Titus is cut off by a loud, sharp voice.

"Quintus Atticus!"

The two men at the table flinch and stare at the newcomers: two soldiers and their commander. "I've been searching for you in the whole town and yet, here you are." The commander's smirk is predatory.

"Yes, as far as your all-seeing eyes are not deceiving you." Quintus snorts. He knows where this is going.

"Spare me your clever comments. There is only one thing I need from you and you know perfectly well what it is," the commander leans forward and whispers coldly. "You owe me two thousand Denarii and I need them now." His words hiss like a venomous snake into the young man's ear.

"You will get your money but I am afraid not today as I do not have it." Quintus looks the man in the eyes without blinking. His voice is surprisingly calm.

"I will not wait any longer. Either you give them to me right now, or I swear to Jupiter, I will send my men to your mother and precious little sister Silvia. And trust me, my men know how to spend time."

"You will not dare, Sextus!" The young man rises from his seat, clenching his fists.

"Try me!"

A quick and powerful punch sends one of the soldiers flying across the room. The second soldier joins him in a few seconds, thudding on a table, breaking it in half. The noise and screams get louder as the fight gets more heated. Apparently Quintus is well known and respected in this tavern, as some people volunteer to help him and smash plates and amphoras over the heads of the soldiers who had driven their swords out to attack their commander's rival.

Meanwhile Quintus grabs the commander's wrist, squeezing so tightly that the man cries out and his sword falls out of his hold. The young man grabs Sextus' hair and bangs his head against the table, breaking his nose and eyebrow. He's ready to repeat it when a new voice sounds behind them:

"Enough!"

The butcher, who had been sitting at the table and watching the scene without participating in it and Quintus, who's holding the commander's neck ready to break it in any minute, turn their heads to see Aulus Valerius Martialis, a lanista, the owner of a gladiators' school.

"What are you asking of this man, Sextus?" His narrow, grey eyes study the bloody face of the commander, flailing in the young warrior's hold.

"He owes me two thousand Denarii and doesn't want to pay," Sextus barks, still trying to break free.

"Is that true?" Aulus shifts his gaze from the commander to Quintus, who lowers his gaze. Aulus is a very respected citizen of Rome.

"I see," Aulus nods slowly. "How about we make a deal," he suggests suddenly.

"A deal? What deal?" Quintus asks suspiciously.

"What would you say if I paid these two thousand Denarii for you?"

"Why would you do that?" The young man narrows his eyes, looking at the lanista doubtfully. Of course Aulus will ask for something in return, he only wonders what.

"Maybe because I am a generous man and want to help you?" Aulus smiles.

Quintus snorts. "Of course. And you wouldn't ask for something from my side. What is it that you want from me?"

"I've been watching you for some time and know how experienced and skillful a warrior you are. I want you to join the rows of my gladiators. If you win twenty times in a row, without a single defeat, you will be a free man again. What do you say?"

Quintus lets out a shuddering breath. There is no way in all the underworld that he can find this much money or another opportunity to earn it. He is indeed very experienced, has been in many battles, fought against numerous tribes and he knows what he's capable of. Twenty victories. That's the only thing being asked of him.

"I agree," the young man says after a moment's hesitation.

"Good." The lanista rubs his hands together. "Now release the man for Jupiter's sake."

Sextus is thrown into a violent fit of coughing as soon as Quintus lets go of him. The commander rubs his aching throat, glaring daggers at the young man.

"Sextus, come for your money tomorrow at noon. I will gladly share Athenian fine wine with you." Aulus pats the commander's shoulder.

After the commander and his beaten-up soldiers leave the tavern, Aulus turns to the young warrior.

"Are you ready to come with me?"

Quintus throws a look at the secret room's door, remembering Demetrius, who's probably tired of waiting, and lets out a throaty chuckle.

"Can you give me one more hour, lanista?"

Aulus arches his brows. "An hour? What do you need it for?"

Quintus shifts from one foot to the other, feeling a bit embarrassed. But before he answers his butcher friend cuts in:

"You see lanista, there is a very appetizing piece of ass waiting for him in that room and probably whining like a little bitch.”

Aulus lets out a loud, pleasant laugh. "Oh, my apologies. Of course, by all means, go and enjoy yourself. I will just take a seat right here and have a nice chat with your friend. Go."

Quintus mutters his thanks and heads towards the secret room to keep his promise: to stretch Demetrius' delicious ass down on his dick.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Actually I quite love Demetrius. Poor baby…. Oh and you will meet Cas in this chapter ;)

* * *

 

After thoroughly wrecking Demetrius to the point where he won't be able to walk for a few days, Quintus tells him that he will not be able to visit and see him for a long time, as he is becoming a gladiator. The Greek prostitute bursts into tears and cries like a child against Quintus' chest. Poor boy, he's hopelessly fallen in love with the green-eyed man, that's why he would refuse to accept money from Quintus for the last few weeks.

"Don't go, please don't go!" He sobs and clutches Quintus' tunic, hot tears staining the fabric.

"Hush now, little one," Quintus croons, rocking the prostitute in his arms, 'till the bitter sobs become subdued. "I need only twenty victories. Aulus promised that after those victories I will be a free man again." His hand caresses Demetrius' long, silky hair. He can't say that he's in love with the boy, but definitely has some tender feelings for him.

"Lies." Demetrius raises his head. "Quintus, no one will let you go. You will die there, either in the arena or Gods will think of other way to end your life."

"You little fool." Quintus chuckles, masking the flinch caused by Demetrius' words behind a laugh. "Twenty victories shouldn't be that hard. I've been in many battles and have survived worse than fighting against some puny, week-ass men."

Demetrius just sighs and snuggles closer, seeking comfort in the man's embrace, which causes a smile on Quintus' face. Maybe when he's a free man again he could come back here and take Demetrius with him, pulling the younger man out of the swamp he's in. Yes, that could work!

"Gods know I would love to hear your screams and shouting my name again, just like you were doing a few minutes ago, but I am afraid my cock will rip your little, pretty ass apart if I touch you now. Besides, Aulus is waiting for me outside. He was too kind to give an hour to me so I could spend this time with you." Quintus grabs Demetrius' chin and plants a long kiss on his mouth.

"Please, promise me that you will come back!" the Greek mutters frantically against the green-eyed man's neck, not wanting to move from Quintus' lap.

Minutes pass quickly and with a heavy heart Quintus is forced to leave Demetrius. He can hear the distraught man's pitiful sobs behind the closed door. The prostitute's warning words still ring in his ears and he hurries to walk to Aulus, who's busy chatting with the butcher.

As Quintus finds out later that night, Aulus is full of surprises: he lets the young man meet with his family to bid goodbye to his mother and sister.

Quintus' mother Octavia faints after hearing about her son's future fate. Quintus and Silvia bring her back to consciousness, trying their best to soothe the weeping woman, but it doesn't help.

It has been a horrible day and Quintus doesn't feel like talking. He hugs his mother and sister tightly, promising that he will be back in a year at most, that he will send them money earned from his victories. Octavia just keeps shaking her head, saying that no money is worth her son's life.

* * *

The ludus or the gladiator school owned by Aulus Valerius Martialis is located in the same yard as his villa. Being one of the richest and most famous citizens of Rome, Aulus has luxury to have his own school consisting of thirty gladiators, trainers and medical staff.

It's late at night when they reach Aulus' villa. Not wanting to stir fuss and unnecessary problems amongst the gladiators, Aulus sends Quintus into an empty cell. He will present him to the rest of the gladiators in the morning.

Next morning at sunrise Quintus is taken out of his cell and into the yard where thirty gladiators and their trainers are standing in a row, waiting for their master to show up.

"Aulus! Aulus! Aulus!" They roar in synch as their owner appears, accompanied by a stranger.

Aulus raises his hand with a smile, greeting his gladiators. "May the gods bless this day," he begins. "I want to introduce someone to you. This man is to join your rows and become your friend from today. Please welcome Quintus Atticus." He smacks the young man on the back.

"Is he as good in bed as he looks?" laughs a huge Ethiopian gladiator named Hargo.

"I bet he is," agrees another gladiator, a Celt named Bricius. "He would look pretty between my legs with his cocksucking lips on my dick.”

A roaring laughter shakes the yard and Quintus turns deathly pale, all the blood leaving his face. He starts to shake visibly and grits his teeth, when Aulus leans towards his ear.

"Calm down. It's their usual greeting for newbies."

"I don't care. If anyone tries to touch me, you will have one gladiator less in your school, lanista." Quintus fumes in rage.

Aulus decides not to pay attention to the hot-blooded young man's threats and turns to the crowd. "Return to your daily schedules."

As the gladiators start to break up, he turns to Quintus. "You come with me. We need to decide what type of a gladiator to make out of you."

Leaving bawdy expressions like "Precious, come to me this night, my cock will be waiting for you", Quintus follows his master, first to go through medical examination and then to see trainers.

* * *

As it turns out Quintus' health is perfect. Short but thorough sparring also shows how good he is in a sword fight, what his strengths and weaknesses are. After a brief discussion and considering Quintus' skills, the trainers and Aulus come to decision to make him a Thraex – a gladiator with a square-shaped shield and a Thracian curved sword. Like most Thraex, or Thracians, he will wear trouser-like leg wrappings, loincloth, a belt, a pair of long shin-guards or greaves, an arm guard (manica) on the sword-arm, and a broad-rimmed helmet that encloses his entire head, distinguished by a stylized griffin or front of the crest.

Being a generous man, Aulus likes to treat his gladiators well. He feeds them three times a day, cares for their health and accommodation and also, provides prostitutes of either sex once a week. Especially after successful fights in the arena. The gladiators bring him a lot of money and Aulus is kind enough to reward them for it.

At noon after the gladiators break for their second meal, Quintus is sent to join them. With his plate full of meat, bread and cheese he walks among the benches trying to find a vacant and isolated place. It's his first day at the ludus and all he wants to do is sit down, eat his meal in silence and watch the other gladiators from a distance.

He barely manages to sit down and take a bite of his cheese, when a merry voice sounds right above his head.

"I'm Judoc. Mind if I join you?"

Quintus stops chewing and looks up to see the intruder. He's met with a young man, aged between twenty-three-twenty-five, with vivid, hazel eyes and mahagony hair.

"No," Quintus mutters under his breath. He's decided that maybe it's not too bad to have a companion, especially who could tell him more about this place.

"Thank you." Judoc plops down with a happy smile on his face. He's lean but with nicely defined muscles. "How come you're here?" He asks curiously, biting the roasted meat on his plate.

"Life," Quintus growls quietly.

"I understand," Judoc nods. "We can all be fools. It's in our nature and there's nothing we can do about it. I've been here for ten years. Got captured in my homeland while running after sheep."

"Ten years?" Quintus almost chokes.

"Yes. I got used to it. I had no one in my homeland. No parents, no relatives. I served a rich man as a shepherd. The Romans captured me and brought here where our master bought me at the slave market." Judoc washes down the meal with cheap wine. Aulus had permitted one cup of wine during a day.

"Have you fought in the arena?" Quintus asks and immediately regrets asking the question, feeling embarrassed. Of course the man would've fought in the arena during ten years. What a silly question!

"Of course I have. I've fought sixty-two times. Forty victories and twenty-two defeats. Aulus has one special rule: after a defeat no one gets killed, though you don't get paid. I am not the strongest amongst my brothers, I admit." The young man shrugs with a smile.

"Brothers? But you said you didn't have family?" Quintus asks.

"These people, all these gladiators are my brothers. We are brothers in arms. All of us. You will get used to it." Judoc sounds sincere and his voice is full of respect when he talks about the other gladiators.

"I was a fool," Quintus begins suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"I liked to gamble and lost a lot of money, two thousand Denarii in fact." After a surprised whistle from Judoc, he continues. "Of course I didn't have this much money. Aulus found me in a tavern and paid them for me, demanding only twenty victories of me."

"Twenty victories are not a problem." Judoc sounds cryptic.

"Then what is the problem?" Quintus asks puzzled.

"Time. You never know when these twenty fights will take place. It can be weeks, months or years, my friend."

Gods damn it! Why didn't he think about it before agreeing to the deal? What if he spends next ten years like Judoc at this place? Who knows how much time it will take him to have those twenty fights? He's about to bang his fists against the table in despair, when his new friend's hand gently shakes him by the shoulder.  
"Quintus, wake up. Master is calling us."

Once again the gladiators, now including Quintus, stand in a row in front of their master and trainers. It appears that Aulus is departing and indeed, his following words confirm it.

"I am leaving to meet with my friend Claudius Avitus to discuss the schedule of your future fights in the arena. Let us hope Fortuna smiles upon us."

The roar the gladiators make is deafening.

Aulus, accompanied by the guards and servants, leaves the yard and the gate behind them closes. Quintus wants to ask something when he feels a burning gaze. He looks up at the balcony of the villa and meets the owner of the piecing stare.

It is a young man clad in a white toga, a few years younger than him, with cold, blue eyes and an arrogant look on his pretty face. The corner of his lips twitch into a loathing smirk when their eyes meet.

Quintus swallows nervously but doesn't look away. The young man lets out a huff, empties the silver goblet, which he is holding with his lean fingers, turns around and quickly goes inside the house.

"Who was that?" Quintus asks Judoc, without shifting his gaze from the balcony where the young man was standing just a few seconds ago.

"That was Cassius Valerius Martialis. The only son of our master." Judoc lowers his voice and looks around to see that they are alone.

"One bit of advice, Quintus. If you don't want any trouble, stay as far away from Cassius as possible."

Judoc quickly walks away, leaving a confused Quintus behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where Cas (Cassius) proves that he is a little shit.

Forum Romanum, located in the small valley between the Palatine and Capitoline Hills is the center of Roman public life: the site of triumphant processions and elections; the venue for public speeches, criminal trials, and gladiatorial matches; and the nucleus of commercial affairs. Here statues and monuments commemorate the city's great men.

Many of the oldest and most important structures of the ancient city are located on or near the Forum. The Roman kingdom's earliest shrines and temples are located on the southeastern edge; these include the ancient former royal residence, the Regia, and the Temple of Vesta.

Other archaic shrines to the northwest, such as the Umbilicus Urbis and the Vulcanal (Shrine of Vulcan), developed into the Republic's formal Comitium (assembly area). This is where the Senate—as well as Republican government itself—began. The Senate House, government offices, tribunals, temples, memorials and statues gradually expanded until they cluttered the area.

The organizer of gladiator fights is Claudius Avitus, a man of noble (patrician) origin. He is Aulus' good friend, helping the man schedule and organize gladiator fights accordingly. Claudius is always happy and eager to hear any news while sitting with his friend in his mesmerizing orchard, sipping cold Etruscan wine.

After hearing about a new gladiator at Aulus' ludus and how good his skills are, Claudius shows great interest and immediately orders five fights during a month with Quintus participating in them.

"I would like to see the man in action, my friend," Claudius tells Aulus. "I hope he is as good as you're describing him."

"Trust me Claudius. We've been childhood friends. Has there been an occasion when I've deceived or lied to you?" Aulus puts down his goblet, tearing a small piece from a fresh grape.

"No, of course you haven't," Claudius shakes his head. "It's just that the man has no experience in the arena. Do you think he will be able to give people a good performance?"

"I am more than sure. I've seen him in action." Aulus wipes his forehead. "Gods damn it, it's hot like in Numidia. I'm afraid Jupiter is angry with us and has decided to fry us under this burning sun."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Claudius chuckles. "By the way, how is Cassius? I have not seen him much lately."

"I'm afraid he is not much interested in gladiators and their management. The only things that interest him are wine and prostitutes. I do not know what will become of the school when gods take my life away. I should be stricter and teach him how to manage ludus when I'm not there." Aulus rubs his chin, thinking he might have made a mistake in how he raised his only son.

"Cassius is a clever young man. Have no worries my friend. He will learn quickly," Claudius assures his friend.

Aulus nods absentmindedly, still deep in thoughts. His friend's words don't convince him much. After his wife had died giving birth to their only child and his promise to her that he would take care of the boy, Aulus had been doing his best to keep the promise and spoiling his son in every possible way, until he'd realized that he had given nothing valuable to the boy, turning him into a twenty-five year old who was spoiled, arrogant and cynical.  
Aulus just prays to gods that it's not too late to try and beat some sense into his son's head. Claudius' voice withdraws him from his thoughts and with a sigh Aulus follows him inside the villa for dinner.

* * *

When Aulus comes back to the villa, he informs the gladiators that after three days twelve gladiators chosen by him will participate in the fights. It will be a mass fight: Aulus' twelve gladiators vs Gaius Catus' twelve gladiators.

After the lanista calls the names of the participating gladiators and hearing his name amongst them, Quintus gets anxious and excited. He's antsy for the rest of the day, thinking about the upcoming fight. He asks Judoc, who is not participating, about the arena and drinks in every last detail, whether it is actually important or not.

Quintus wants to prove to Aulus that he is worth those two thousand Denarii the man paid for him. He wants to win and prove to the other gladiators that he is not a weakling. And more importantly, he wants to earn and save money to send to his family and for Demetrius' freedom.

Quintus becomes so anxious and obsessed about the fight that he isn't able to sleep normally during the remaining days before it begins.

* * *

The first seconds spent in the arena will forever be seared into Quintus' brain: roaring crowd, screaming women and shouting men, chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

For a few seconds he doesn't see or notice anything except the crowd's blood-thirsty eyes and hysterical screams. Quintus is busy contemplating the public with slightly agape mouth until his fellow gladiator Eurimachos kicks him in the ribs with his elbow.

"Wake up you idiot!"

Quintus starts, grabbing the shield and his sword tightly and shifts his gaze from the crowd to his rivals.

The clash is horrendous: the sharp sounds of clanking shields and swords are so loud that they overcover screams from the public. Soon after shattered helmets, broken shields and swords begin to fall in the yellow sand of the arena. Raging and furious yells from the gladiators shake the walls of the arena.

By mutual consent Aulus and Gaius had agreed to have one special rule: the gladiators would not fight till death. They could wound each other, even mutilate but not kill. The gladiator who would fall in the sand would be considered defeated.

Ten minutes have barely passed and there already are four wounded and defeated gladiators, groaning and cursing under their noses. They quickly roll or crawl aside, not to get under the fighters feet.

Aulus and Gaius, both seated with famous citizens and senators of Rome on a special place in the arena, cheer on their gladiators with loud shouts and praises.

The audience doesn't seem to be bored judging by their applause and shouts. But amongst cheerful shouts one can hear curses and swearing too. A lot of people have made bets and their reactions vary according to events developing in the arena.  
After an hour Aulus' team is left with two remaining undefeated Gladiators – Hargo, the huge Ethiopian gladiator and Quintus, against Gaius' five gladiators.

"Seems like it's our lucky day, princess!" Hargo shouts at Quintus over his shoulder.

"When we win, you will stop calling me that stupid name," Quintus growls back.

Hargo lets out a thunderous laughter, headbutts an exhausted rival and sends him face down into the sand.

"Deal. But let us win first."

The next moments are a blur. In the whirlwind of sand Quintus barely sees Hargo fighting against three gladiators while he's busy blocking the strikes of his own rival. The Ethiopian gladiator is very strong but he also has limits; Hargo is covered in multiple wounds and his strength is fading. He is able to send one more rival into the sand before he falls down: the gladiator from Gaius' team stabs him in the thigh. Exhausted man loses his balance and falls down grunting painfully.

Thus Quintus is left alone facing three gladiators. By this time the audience has gone crazy.

"Quintus! Quintus! Quintus!" They roar and stamp their feet.

The young man swallows nervously, studying his rivals carefully, searching for their weaknesses. Though no one gives him enough time for it.

One of the rivals surges forward, bringing down a strike but Quintus blocks it with his shield and kicks the man in his stomach, sending him flying a few feet away.

Using his rivals' momentary confusion, Quintus attacks the last two gladiators with all the remaining strength. His furious roars and onslaught have an intimidating effect on them and they slowly retreat. The young warrior attacks the rival standing nearest, with a terrible strike shatters his helmet and punches him between the eyes. The man falls down like a sack of potatoes.

Quintus' last rival is a young man, approximately twenty-two years old, covered in blood and gashes. They are deep but not deadly. The boy is barely standing on his feet, clearly swaying and Quintus doesn't want to hurt him much.

With a few quick maneuvers Quintus disarms the boy, kicking him with his shield. The green-eyed man drops his sword and simply pushes the boy in his chest with a bare hand. Exhausted from a draining fight the boy loses his balance and falls down on his back, not even trying to stand up or roll on his side while trying to regain his breathing.

Quintus drops his shield and looks up at the tribunes where his master is sitting. And he can't help but smile when he notices Aulus Valerius Martialis standing and applauding with a joyous face.

Quintus knows that he's done a terrific job.

* * *

The fight brings Aulus a lot of money, even more than what he'd expected. To celebrate the brilliant victory of his gladiators, Aulus frees them from tiring training that day and lets them have a small feast with fine wine and prostitutes specially brought for them.  
After the victory in the arena the gladiators accept Quintus as their friend and equal, giving manly hugs and pats on the back. And no one calls him the mocking names after that day.

Quintus has just finished bathing in a small pool which the gladiators share, drying himself and his long hair when a loud laughter and women's happy screeching reaches his hearing. He snorts knowingly. Of course his friends would be having fun with prostitutes. Quintus sighs, recalling Demetrius and feeling a slight pang in his heart when Judoc's head appears in the doorway.

"Quintus, there is a visitor for you waiting outside!"

"A visitor?" The young man turns around but Judoc is already gone.

As soon as Quintus walks out someone leaps at him, wrapping their body around the young warrior's body.

"Quintus, oh gods how much I missed you!" Demetrius whimpers into his ear.

"Demetrius!" Quintus sounds surprised but excited. "How did you get here?"

"Aulus sent men to bring me here to you." Demetrius is kissing the young warrior's neck, grinding his hips against Quintus crotch setting it on fire.

Quintus growls, grabbing the Greek prostitute under his ass and leans against the nearest column. He quickly removes Demetrius' loincloth and begins to stretch him impatiently with spit-slicked fingers.

Demetrius' lustful moans and shouts can be heard throughout the yard and some of the gladiators come out of their cells (where they've been fucking their own prostitutes) to see what's happening. After seeing Quintus ruthlessly fucking the Greek boy, they start to laugh heartily and encourage the fellow gladiator with cheerful shouts.

And thus, under their encouragements and Demetrius' lewd moans Quintus shoots his release deep inside the younger man.

 

Quintus is sitting on the ground with Demetrius in his lap and they kiss lazily, when the green-eyed man feels the familiar, piercing gaze again. He stops caressing his lover's hair to look up at the balcony.

And of course Cassius is there, staring at the gladiator with his arrogant, cold eyes. Quintus must admit that he is a very attractive man. Had they met in different circumstances, who knows maybe he would bend Cassius over a table and fuck him until he screamed his name over and over again.

Without a word Cassius goes inside the villa, once again leaving confused Quintus behind. The young gladiator doesn't understand what his master's son wants from him until two days later.

* * *

It's a quiet night at the villa. Aulus is gone to attend a friend's daughter's wedding. The gladiators are all in their cells after a tiring day. Quintus is getting ready to go to sleep when guards open the door of his cell.

"Get up. Master Cassius wants to see you."

The guards take him inside the house and the room where Cassius is sitting on armchair. His wearing a short, white tunic and a laurel wreath around his head. His lean but strong legs are parted and there is a woman settled between them, with her head under the tunic. Cassius lets out a loud moan when the prostitute's tongue touches a sensitive spot on his cock. His blue eyes are filled with lust and half closed. Another prostitute is standing behind his armchair, giving the young man a gentle massage.

Quintus shifts awkwardly not understanding why he's been summoned. As if hearing his thoughts, Cassius straightens and pulls the prostitute away.

"Everyone out. You stay," he says briefly, looking at the gladiator.

The guards and women leave the room hurriedly, leaving two men behind.

Cassius stands up and walks toward Quintus with slow steps, contemplating the green-eyed man's half naked body greedily.

"Do you know why I summoned you?" his deep voice sounds in the room.

"No master," Quintus responds, lowering his gaze.

"Remove your loincloth," Cassius orders briefly.

Quintus' brows furrow, not liking the tone of the young man.

"I said, remove your loincloth!" Cassius' voice is sharp like steel.

The gladiator swallows hard but obeys. The loincloth falls down on the floor near its owner's feet, leaving the gladiator stark naked.

Cassius purrs like a cat and slides his hand from Quintus' neck down his spine, stopping at his waist.

"I saw you fucking a prostitute that day. And judging by his screams the boy loved what you were doing to him. I want you to pleasure me with your lips and tongue. On your knees!" Cassius stops walking around the gladiator to look him in the eyes.

"What?" Quintus' voice instantly goes hoarse.

"On your knees, Slave!" Cassius hisses, leaning forward, his blue eyes flashing thunder. "You will suck my dick whenever I tell you to!"

Quintus begins to shake and he's using all of his willpower not to strangle the younger man in front of him.

"No!" he grits through his teeth.

"No?" Cassius arches his brows amazed.

"No. I am not a prostitute." His green eyes meet the gaze full of loathing. "I am a gladiator, not a whore."

"Either you will do as I say or you will regret it," Cassius says calmly and his voice sends chills down the gladiator's spine.

The two of them stare at each other. The blue eyes are full of mockery, while the owner of the green eyes is mentally strangling his master's monstrous son.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter till I close the Roman theme and move to the MAIN plot ;)

Cassius tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing to tiny blue dots. How dare this filthy slave refuse his desire?

"Have you forgotten your place? How dare you tell me 'no', you abomination? YOU HAVE NO RIGHTS!" Cassius hisses unpleasantly, like an angry, raring snake ready to attack.

Before Quintus opens his mouth for an answer, Cassius' hand is grabbing his hair. "First, you will suck my cock, nice and slow and then you will present your fine ass to me, so I can fuck you like the dirty whore you are."

Quintus is thinking he may have no other choice other than to kill this little piece of shit in front of him and then be ready for his own death, when a guard walks into the room.

"Master Cassius, your father wishes to speak to you. He is waiting for you in the olive garden."

Cassius rolls his eyes, clearly exasperated. "Can't it wait, Titus? I am busy here."

"I am sorry Master Cassius, but he said it's very important." The guard shifts uncomfortably.

"Alright, alright. I'm coming." Cassius lets go of his grip on Quintus' hair and rearranges his clothes, hissing almost inaudibly when the tunic rubs against his hard member. "You can thank gods for saving your ass tonight," Cassius says with a glare at Quintus, "but I promise the day will come when I will impale you on my cock. Get out."

Quintus grabs his loincloth and hurries up to leave the room, rushing out and wrapping the fabric around his hips on his way out. He doesn't turn around to see if Cassius is behind him, simply follows the guards who brought him into the villa. The only thing he cares for now is getting into his cell and having a drink of water, as his throat feels scratchy and dry.

When he gets inside the barracks and the guards lock the door behind him, Quintus swears loudly, punching the nearest wall.

"Quintus, are you alright?" Judoc asks from his cell, walking towards the door of his cell.

"I want to kill that son of a bitch!" Quintus snarls, spitting aside. His whole body is shaking with fuming rage.

"Who are you talking about? What happened?" Judoc asks quietly.

"Cassius. That little piece of shit. He thinks I am a whore and he can use me as he wants!"

"I see. Did you…" Judoc doesn't finish his question, feeling uncomfortable.

"Of course not!" Quintus shouts indignantly. "I would never do that! Aulus came back from the wedding and he wanted to talk to his arrogant dick of a son."

"Well, you should pray for Aulus' well being, then. He saved you today." A new voice cuts in – Bricius. "I don't envy you, brother. Cassius is a spoiled bastard, whom I'd gladly strangle with my own hands," he adds after a while.

"What are you going to do?" Judoc asks worriedly.

"If he summons me again for the same purpose, help me gods I will castrate and make him eat his own cock." Quintus grits his teeth.

After a short silence Bricius bursts into laughter and surprisingly all the rest of the gladiators who had to be sleeping, join him.

"You fuckers, you have been listening haven't you?" Quintus can't help but smile.

"Of course, it's hard not to notice you when you are stomping and roaring like a bear!" someone shouts from the depth of the barracks.

"Oh, kiss my ass!" Quintus retorts jokingly.

"Sorry sweetheart, I prefer women. Ask Cassius, he would gladly do it!"

Roaring laughter shakes the walls of the barracks and Quintus gets inside his cell, shaking his head and laughing. He couldn't be happier to have such great friends.

* * *

"Father, you wanted to see me?" Cassius walks to Aulus, who's sitting on a bench under an old olive tree, listening to the crickets and enjoying the fresh air.

"Yes, my son. Have a seat beside me." Aulus taps the bench, waiting for his son to sit down.

"What is it that you want to talk about?"

Aulus takes a deep breath, holds it in for a few seconds and exhales slowly. "I want to teach you how to manage ludus. You are not interested in this business, but you need to understand that this is the main source of our income."

"But Father…" Cassius begins but is cut off.

"You need to learn how to respect these people, Cassius. They bring us money. If not for them we wouldn't be as wealthy as we are now. I may die one day, leaving everything behind. What will you do then? Most of the gladiators we have are contracted. Some of them are to be released after a few months, some of them in weeks. I want to teach you everything I know, my son." Aulus puts his hand on the young man's shoulder. "You need to understand that I am doing this for you."

Cassius purses his lips, sinking into thoughts. As much as he hates to admit it, his father is right. It's their main business and the source of their wealth.

"Alright, Father. I will take management lessons from you but not tonight, please."

Aulus laughs pleasantly. "Of course. Whenever you are ready, my son. Just don't postpone it too much."

* * *

It's unbelievable but the demand for Quintus in the arena is very high, and after forty-five days he has twelve victories. The money he earns and saves is more than enough for his family and Demetrius' freedom.

At their next meeting Quintus gives the Greek prostitute five hundred Denarii (the price the tavern owner paid for him) and tells him that he can buy his freedom from the tavern's owner. The poor boy passes out from nervousness and after a frightened Quintus pours a bucket of cold water over his body, Demetrius comes to his senses and cries for what seems like eternity. He keeps mumbling feverishly that he won't leave and will wait 'til Quintus is a free man, while the gladiator rocks him in his arms, calling him a "little fool". Soon after the tears are forgotten and Demetrius' screams of pleasure fill Quintus' cell.

* * *

It had been a normal day for everyone: gladiators training, slaves and servants working inside the villa, the garden or other places, Cassius doing nothing but enjoying his time with expensive hetaeras and no one had expected the news that was like a clap of thunder in a clear sky. A sweaty and rumpled messenger had run into the yard of the villa screaming something incomprehensible. The gladiators had stopped their training, even Cassius coming down into the yard to hear what was going on.

When the messenger drank a whole amphora of cold water and regained his breathing, everyone who had been present in the yard gasped in shock: Aulus had been murdered at the market by an assassin. Two stabs in the stomach and a slit to his throat. Cassius, without saying a word, had left with the messenger to see his father's body.

* * *

After Aulus' corpse is bathed and perfumed and dressed in the richest robes it's laid upon a couch strewn with flowers, with the feet pointing towards the outer door. Coins are placed under his tongue to ensure a safe journey to the underworld.

The nearest relatives and friends of the deceased carry his body. The funeral procession is attended by musicians, mourning women and men hired to sing the praises of one the most famous citizens of Rome. The hired mourners are wearing the ancestral imagines, funerary masks, of Aulus' ancestors, listening to the eulogy read during the procession.

Cassius watches silently as his father's body is laid upon an altar. He takes the torch and sets fire to it, as the mourners throw perfumes and spices onto the bonfire.

Aulus' ashes will be collected and deposited in an urn, to be kept in the mausoleum of the family. There will be offerings of food and drink to the dead together with animal sacrifices. This is the only thing left they can do to show their respect to Aulus Valerius Martialis.

Cassius locks himself up in his father's working room, sitting at the table, covered in papers, books, ink and quills. He unfolds and examines the contracts, reading when the gladiators' serving dates expire. His lean fingers tap against the table, while the young master of Martialis' villa thinks about the decision he is about to make.

The gladiators are summoned in to the yard during their resting hour. It must be something important, as Aulus had never gathered them before at this hour.

They all stand in row and look up at the balcony, where Cassius is standing, holding some papers in his hands. He looks down at the gathered gladiators with an unreadable, cold stare and begins:

"I have gathered you here to tell you the following news. As you know my father hired each of you on the basis of individual contracts. These are your contracts I am holding in my hand. And now, they are valid no more." The young man rips the papers and throws them into the air.

"Does that mean that we are free men?" one of the gladiators asks.

Cassius' lip quirks into a smirk. "No. It means you are to stay here. Forever."

The indignant and loud rumble stirs in the gladiators and they start to shout angrily. Quintus can see that the situation is getting out of control and that there will be blood as the guards are unsheathing their swords, ready for attack if the gladiators start to riot.

"Please calm, dawn!" Quintus puts himself between his friends and the guards, raising his hands placating. "We are not going to do anything! Please stand down. My friends, let's return to our cells."

Something in Quintus' voice defuses the situation. The gladiators know him well by now and they know that Quintus has a plan. They obey without any more hassle and follow him into the barracks, just throwing some snarky comments at the guards.

As soon as they are inside the barracks his thirty friends gather around him, waiting for an explanation.

"I know that you are thinking of something, Quintus. Share it with us," Dexus, a Gaul gladiator speaks up.

"I am not sure of what we can do in this situation." Hargo scratches his head, looking at his friends.

"But I know," Quintus says quietly.

"And what would that be?" Judoc asks suspiciously, sensing that something big is coming.

Quintus throws a careful glance at the entrance door and then at his friends. His answer is simple, but the words resonate among the gathered men like a boom of thunder.

"We escape."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very hard to write. Things you may need:
> 
> Tissues  
> Ice-cream  
> Hugs
> 
> I apologize for your feels (if such occur)

 

"What are you talking about?" Bricius breaks the silence, gaping at his fellow gladiator. "What escape?"

"You heard me. We escape from this place!" Quintus lowers his voice so as not to draw attention of the guards.

"Quintus, have gods sent madness upon you?" Hargo frowns, folding his arms on his chest. "Or have you fried your brains from being under the sun for too long?"

"No, I assure you, I am perfectly sane." Quintus is getting frustrated. "We cannot stay here any longer. Have you heard him? He will not let us go and we will probably die here. He will keep us locked like caged beasts, 'till we fall in the arena. Is this what you want? Don't you want to return to your families? Do you want to spend the rest of your days at this rotting place?"

Judoc steps forward, placing his hand on Quintus' shoulder. "I hear you, brother. But do you want Rome to send legions after us? You are forgetting that Aulus had many good friends amongst the senators."

"Aulus is dead. May his soul rest in peace," Quintus says remorsefully.

"Aulus may be dead but Cassius can contact them," Bricius objects.

"Not if we send the bastard to his ancestors."

"What?" all the gladiators exclaim in shock.

"If we kill Cassius, no one will inform the senate. Everyone loathes him. They are afraid of him but do not love or respect him. Do you think soldiers, servants or slaves will go to the senate and tell them about the murder of their monstrous owner? No, they will be glad that the son of a bitch is dead. Then, by the time the news reach the senate we will be far away with our families and loved ones." Quintus exhales sharply and takes a good look at his friends.

No one says anything for a while, a deep concentration and thoughtfulness on their faces, before Judoc finally speaks.

"To fulfill your insane venture we will need a detailed plan." He steps forward and stands beside his best friend.

"Thank you!" Quintus says sincerely, his eyes shining from gratitude. Judoc just winks at him.

"What about the rest of you? Are you with me?" Quintus shifts his gaze from one gladiator to another.

"We are brothers in arms, ready to die for each other at any time. You can count on me." Hargo stands beside Quintus. "Besides, someone has to protect your precious ass." He chuckles and slaps the younger man's ass amicably.

"Asshole," Quintus snorts but in another second finds himself almost squashed in Hargo's bone-crushing hug.

"So, do you have a plan for how we're going to escape?" Bricius asks.

"Not a detailed one but I'm working on it. The first thing we need to do is act natural, not to draw any attention. We will continue doing our daily tasks as if nothing's changed," Quintus explains.

"Sounds good to me," Hargo nods.

"I will think about the details tonight and will tell you tomorrow night, when we return to our cells," Quintus promises.

After a short while the gladiators go to their cells to rest a little before returning to the tiring exercising.

* * *

As it turns out Quintus' plan is very risky. First of all they need to bribe a guard of the barracks so he won't lock the door, then someone needs to open the door of the house from the inside, so the gladiators could sneak into the house and find Cassius.

"We will not kill him," Quintus goes on. "We will take him hostage so we could go through the gates. We will tell the commander of the guards that they can find Cassius in the woods next day at noon. We will have enough time to leave Rome before then."

"Will you spare his life?" Judoc asks cautiously.

Quintus falls silent, thinking about the answer. "No," he says finally. "If I spare his life he will find more unfortunate souls to torture."

"Fair enough," Judoc nods.

"When are we planning to escape?" Hargo enquires.

"After three days."

"Why exactly after three days? Is there a special reason?" someone asks quietly.

"Yes. After three days it's Marcus' shift and it will be easier for us. We all know how much he loves money. He is the easiest to bribe. Also, we need to ask him to bring us our swords." Quintus' answer causes whispers amongst the gladiators.

"What guarantees do you have that Marcus will agree to help us?" Bricius sounds doubtful.

Quintus chuckles. "For enough money he would sell his own mother."

"Alright, let's say we bribe Marcus, he provides us with swords and leaves the doors of barracks open. Then what?" asks Eurimachos. He is not a talkative type but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to participate in the whole venture.

"We kill only those who try to stop us. We will not touch anyone who decides to yield. It will be better if our group divides. While one half of the group will take the responsibility to control the situation with the guards of the barracks, the other half should take care of the guards at the house, so they won't have time to wake up Cassius."

"That's good but we have yet to find someone who will unlock the door for us from the inside. I do not know anyone who will want to do it for us," Bricius says with a shrug.

"But I know," Alirick, a young Teuton gladiator speaks. "I will ask Amynthia. But then, I will need her to come with us. I would rather die than see her suffer." The young man blushes a little.

"I see Cupid has wounded your heart mercilessly," Quintus smiles at his friend's confession. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, my friend. If anything, love is the most beautiful feeling in the world. Even the gods are powerless against it."

"You speak like a poet. Your words are so touching I could cry." Hargo wipes off the imaginary tear and everyone bursts into laughter.

They keep talking, discussing and considering each small detail of the plan till late at night. Thus, it's decided to bribe Marcus, ask Amynthia to unlock the door at midnight and take Cassius hostage. But before doing all of it, there is one thing they need to do: pray to all existing deities, especially to Fortuna, to be on their side in this risky venture.

* * *

Unsurprisingly Marcus is not the one they need a lot of time to persuade. The next day at noon when the gladiators have their second meal, Quintus finds Marcus and has a brief talk with him. His friends watch them across the table. At first Marcus frowns, his face displeased and indignant but after Quintus moves to the part where money is involved, the man's face brightens up. He and the gladiator exchange a few more words and then Quintus returns to the table.

"He agreed. He will come to collect his money tonight."

"That's great. Now, we have to hope that Amynthia agrees and will be able to assist us." Judoc takes a look at his friends.

"I will do my best," Alirick mumbles and bites his bread.

As it turns out Amynthia is more difficult to persuade, which is not surprising, as she is a mere slave, afraid of her master and severe punishment. But after a few burning kisses, stolen in the corners of Martialis' villa, the girl agrees.

Alirick listens attentively and approves of his beloved's plan: she will pour tincture into the guards' wine that will make them fall asleep, so she can steal the keys and unlock the door.

* * *

_The day of the planned escape_

The shadows of thirty-one gladiators sneak out of the barracks into the silent yard. The door creaks and closes behind them. The yard is eerily silent, which is very suspicious. There are no guards, not even a random servant or a slave around.

"Quintus, I don't like this. Where is Marcus? He said that he wouldn't interfere in our business but where is he or anyone else?" Hargo asks, confused and trying to understand what is happening.

"I don't know, Hargo. I don't know." Quintus makes a few cautious steps, gripping his sword tightly. "I need half of the group to stay here and take care of the situation if they appear and try to attack. Meanwhile I and the rest of the group will go inside the house to cap…" Quintus is interrupted by loud shouts of the soldiers attacking them from every corner of the yard.

"We will take care of it. You, go!" Bricius yells at Quintus. "Go find that son of a bitch!"

Quintus with his fellow fifteen gladiators run towards the house leaving screams, roaring, cursing, terrible clashing sounds behind their backs. He throws one glance at the scene to see how his friends are surrounded by at least forty soldiers, but they look like lions amongst rabbits. One by one the rows of the attackers lessen, piling up the dead bodies at the feet of the gladiators in the puddles of blood.

Quintus is afraid that the doors will be locked when they reach the house, but he is wrong; Amynthia has managed to unlock them.

They clash into the first small group of the guards, right at the door as soon as they run into the house. It doesn't take the gladiators a long time to deal with them and the soldiers with cut throats fall down on the floor. Soon after the screams of woken servants and slaves fill the house and more soldiers start to appear at hearing the horrible noises.

"Quintus, go find Cassius. We will hold them off!" Judoc shouts at his friend, blocking the strike of his rival.

"I can't lea…" Quintus begins but Hargo cuts in.

"Go!" he yells at the younger man and Quintus nods.

"Don't you dare die! I will be back soon," he tells his friends and grabs one of the dazed soldiers, who's lying on the floor moaning in pain. "Show me your master's chamber, dog!" Quintus drags the man along.

The guard, frightened for his life, obeys and leads the way to Cassius' bed chamber. They stop in front one of the doors and the man points at it:

"He's there."

"Thank you!" Quintus quickly knocks him out by punching him hard in the jaw.

The green-eyed man carefully opens the door and steps inside the room. The chamber is lit dimly by a single oil lamp but it's enough for Quintus to notice a sleeping body in the bed behind transparent curtains. He quickly but inaudibly reaches the bed, pointing the tip of the sword at the sleeping man.

"Get up!" he says loudly and very clearly.

The sleeping body jolts slightly but doesn't obey. It keeps silent and unmoving.

"Cassius Valerius Martialis, I said GET UP you son of a bitch!" Quintus raises his voice, not shifting his gaze from the body wrapped up in soft blankets.

"P-please…" A broken whisper. "Please don't hurt me."

Quintus flinches. It doesn't sound like Cassius' voice at all. He quickly grabs the blankets and yanks them down. The young man gasps; whoever is lying in the bed is not Cassius.

"Who are you and where is Cassius?" Quintus demands angrily.

"I-I'm Androcles, one of the servants. He asked me to stay in this bed while he'd be gone," the boy answers with a shaking voice.

"And where did he go?" Quintus has a very bad feeling but he desperately hopes he is wrong.

"To see senator Claudius Acilius."

The words sound like a clap of thunder and Quintus reels. Cassius had been informed about their escape and is gone to take necessary measures: bring reinforcement to the villa.

"Get out. And hide if you want to live," the gladiator rasps out and storms out of the chamber to find his friends and tell them about the danger.

When he returns to the place where he's left Judoc and Hargo, Quintus sees that out of his fifteen friends there are only eight left, including Judoc and the Ethiopian gladiator. A few resisting guards are still alive and Quintus quickly takes care of them: adding their lifeless bodies to the mutilated pile on the floor.

"We've been betrayed. Marcus told Cassius about our escape and the bastard is gone to bring the reinforcement. We need to hurry up!"

They rush out in the yard to join the first half of the group which they've left at the barracks. The fight is still going on. There are a lot of dead from both sides. Quintus notices Bricius' dead body, covered in multiple wounds, Alirick is alive but barely standing, clutching his bleeding side. Out of fifteen gladiators only ten are alive, which makes eighteen living warriors in total.

"Marcus took our money but informed Cassius about our plan. He's probably marching towards us with the reinforcement. We need to run right now!" Quintus shouts, while beheading one of the guards with one powerful strike.

"Have you seen Amynthia? I am not leaving without her!" Alirick exclaims anxiously.

Before anyone answers his question, the northern gates of the villa collapse with a horrendous noise, massive iron chains falling to the ground with a loud, rattling sound.

Eighteen gladiators freeze in shock: Cassius is sitting on a black mare, riding beside the commander of centuria sent by the senator Acillius for his assistance.

The procession stops in the yard staring at the rebellions. The commander of the centuria is waiting for the host's order.

"Kill them all!" Cassius says briefly before moving out of their way.

Besides his heart beating wildly and blood rushing rapidly through his veins, there is one more sound that Quintus hears: the sounds of drawing bows before they release death-bringing arrows.  
"RUN!" The inhuman voice that fills the night air belongs to Quintus Atticus, one of the best gladiators of Martialis' ludus.

Cassius brushes off some imaginary dust from his tunic and leaving all the deafening sounds behind, walks towards his house, singing something merrily under his nose. Not once turning to the massacre going on in the yard, Cassius enters his villa, walks amongst corpses, finds wine and a goblet and goes to the pool.

Taking off his clothes and throwing them on the mosaic floor, the young man steps into the pool, lowers himself into the pleasant water and rests his strong, muscled arms on the edges. He takes a sip from the goblet, lets out a sigh of relief and closes his eyes. After a few seconds Cassius Valerius Martialis throws his head back and laughs.

* * *

Had it been possible the Sun would've chosen not to rise the next day, so bone-chilling was the sight of Martialis' villa. The yard had been full of dead or dying soldiers or gladiators, sending curses to the owner of the house.

Cassius walks beside the commander of the sent soldiers, checking bodies with the poke of a spear. Almost all the guards of the villa had been killed in the massacre, plus a few slaves and servants.

"Commander." A young soldier approaches the centurion and the host of the villa. "We found some gladiators who are still alive. What will be the order? Should we kill them?"

"How many are there?" Cassius asks suddenly.

"We counted ten men alive," responds the soldier.

"Cassius?" The centurion turns towards the host. "What would you like us to do with them?"

The young man falls silent. His cold blue-eyes narrow in concentration. Then his lips quirk into an evil smirk and he says:

"I want them to die a slow death. I want them to feel how painful it is, to turn their every moment into unbearable torture. Crucify them!"

Quintus, Judoc and Eurimachos are amongst the remaining gladiators. Hargo had died a few hours ago. His body had been wounded by many arrows but the huge gladiator had still kept fighting, until someone's thrown spear smashed his ribcage and pierced right through his heart.

Quintus has lost blood from numerous wounds and is half conscious, not understanding what is happening around him, when horrible screams and sounds of hammering fill the yard. His vision is blurry and he's coughing up blood, not quite realizing that these are the screams of his friends who are being crucified because of their failed mission.

Quintus doesn't fight against the hands which drag him. Realization of the horrible truth dawns on him when he feels excruciating pain in his palm as the hammer pierces a nail through his hand. A desperate shout is ripped out of his lungs and he tries to struggle but too many hands hold him in place while the hammer continues its work. As much as he wants to bear the pain it's impossible to do so and Quintus' yells of pain join the rest of the screams and shouts sounding in the yard.  
"Take them out of the yard. I don't want to breathe their stench and hear their screams. Drag them outside the yard and drive the crosses in along the way towards the Ianus' temple," Cassius says with hatred. He turns around to call a servant but stops, as idea comes to his mind.

"I hope you are happy," he says mockingly as he looks down at crucified Quintus. "Did you really think that I would be so stupid that I wouldn't find out about your dirty intentions? This is where you belong. This is the fate you deserve, filthy whore," Cassius snarls and spits into the gladiator's face.

Quintus' lips tremble from rage, agonizing pain forgotten for a moment and he raises his head, looking in the eyes of his tormentor.

"Pray to all existing gods that I won't find you in your next life. Start praying right now and never stop, because if… no… when I find you…" Quintus wheezes and coughs out more blood, "…you will wish you'd never been born."

Cassius' face turns pale and clenches his fists after hearing such impudent words but quickly regains his composure.

"Take them out. I don't want to see their ugly faces," he orders quickly. "Andronicus, come with me. Let's get inside the house," he tells the centurion, inviting him inside the villa.

The soldiers begin to drag the crosses out of the yard as two men keep walking towards the door of the villa.

"Quintus…" A hoarse whisper reaches the gladiator's clouded mind and he barely manages to open his eyes.

Judoc is staring at him from the other cross, with a bloody face. "It was… an honor… to fight… beside you…" the young man tells Quintus, trying to smile in his last minutes.

"It was an honor…to have you as my friend," Quintus replies quietly.

"May our paths cross again in the next life…brother," Judoc whispers and closes his eyes.

"I am sure we will meet again. Sleep now, little brother." Quintus stares at the dying man with tear filled eyes.

After two hours ten crosses with dead or dying gladiators are set on the road near the Martialis' villa.

* * *

The sudden cold wind that blows from Capua's direction gathers dark clouds in the sky, which will definitely bring a pouring rain. By this time Judoc, Eurimachos and four more gladiators are already dead. Quintus and three more unfortunate men are still alive and suffering on their crosses. The green-eyed man can hear their sobs, praying to gods to end their pains quickly. It's so surprising that despite their failure, no one had held grudges towards their leader – Quintus. As hours pass broken whispers and pleas subdue one by one, leaving the last gladiator all alone.

Quintus' head is hung low on his chest, lips chapped and throat dry, when he hears a broken sob and his name.

"Quintus…"

The gladiator opens his eyes and raises his head a little to look down at the unexpected visitor. Quintus can't help but smile, but it's bitter and painful.

"You came…"

"Of course I came. How could I not come?" Demetrius swallows burning tears. "What have they done to you, my love?" The young man touches the gladiator's feet gingerly, as if afraid to cause him more pain.

"Do not worry… about me. I don't… feel pain anymore." Quintus tries to assure him. "I will leave this world soon. And you… you should return to your homeland."

"Quintus, please stop talking nonsense. I am not leaving you." Demetrius shakes his head, causing a smile on the gladiator's lips. He'd always found this feature adorable in the younger man.

"But… I will die soon and you… you can start everything anew."

Demetrius doesn't answer. He just sits under the cross. Quintus doesn't have a clear view of what his lover is doing, as Demetrius is bending forward a little and fumbling around his neck with his hands.

"What are you doing?" Quintus can't help but ask after he hears a stifled hissing.

"Nothing. Do not worry about anything." Demetrius looks up at him doe-eyed, as he tries to control his quivering lips.

The rain starts to fall in heavy drops, getting stronger with each second. Demetrius sits with his back pressed against the pillar, shivering a little but this is not what catches Quintus' attention. He can see a small dagger at Demetrius' right hand and a red puddle stretching between his legs, which is getting washed away by pouring rain.

"What did you do, Demetrius?" Quintus exclaims horrified. It takes almost all of his remaining strength to shout those words.

"I… I cannot live without you. I am sorry," Demetrius mumbles and raises his hands. Quintus can see cut veins on both of his wrists. "Besides, if I let you go alone, you will not be able to pay Charon, as you do not have coins to pay for crossing the Styx. He would not let you cross the river." The boy sniffs and unclenches one of the fists. There are coins in his palm. "I have brought money for both of us."

Quintus can't help himself when two burning tears roll down his cheeks. "You little fool," he says affectionately. Like he used to say.

"I love you Quintus Atticus and I am the happiest person to die beside you," Demetrius whispers, swallowing his tears.

And under the falling skies, under the pouring rain there are two men dying. One, on the cross and the other one under the cross, refusing to leave his beloved until the death takes their souls to Hades.

**End of part I**


	6. Chapter 6

**Part II - The Sign of The Beast**

**700 years later**

A pouring rain came that night, bouncing off of the fortress's roof noisily. It had been a late summer, predecessor of a chilly Autumn. The wound obtained in the battle at the Valley of Shadows had started to pulse and itch, making the king Uldred grunt in pain. But it hadn't made him change his decision about the hunting next morning.

Uldred was eighteen years old when his father Hedric had died, thus leaving his only son as the heir of the throne of the kingdom. Thanks be to all gods his father had many wise advisers who helped the young boy reign over the kingdom, which was not small by any means. He had been too busy building, restoring the city walls damaged by attacks or unmerciful weather, helping poor people in every way possible and had never thought about his own heir until he turned forty years old. That's when the oldest counselor and the rest of the advisers begged him to choose a wife as the kingdom needed a prince, the descendent of Uldred. The king had given in and married princess Nolween of the Iron Mountains, a beautiful maiden with eyes blue like aquamarines. She had been a very sweet, loyal and loving woman, a decent spouse for the king, loved by so many people of the kingdom.

Nolween was heavily pregnant, expecting her and Uldred's first child in a day or two. She would get tired easily and preferred to stay in her chambers. Uldred had restricted any noises, prohibited loud music or singing around the castle until the baby was born.

It's late at night. Almost everyone in the fortress is asleep, except Uldred and his general Lord Robert. A tangible silence lingers in the air, as the wax candles melt in sconces on the walls. The king's cheeks are flushed from drinking wine, but even the drink can't help enlighten his foul mood. Something heavy and dark is bothering Uldred's soul but he cannot tell what it is. Even Robert seems full of dread.  
The rain had stopped and the owls in the King's garden had started to hoot from the tall cypresses. The guards on the walls would shout at them from time to time.

"What is the reason for your distemper, Robert?" Uldred raises his head, looking at his general's frowning face.

"I did not want to be a messenger of bad news and add more burdens to your shoulders to bear, when you have more than enough to think about, but this is very important and the kingdom's fate may depend on it." Robert's thumbs fumble with the silver buckle of his belt. "The spies informed me that Lord Azazel crossed the northern borders, invaded Veermons, broke down their city gates and annihilated half of the city. Azazel and his son Alastair destroyed their shrines, burned their idols and killed the priests, then sacrificed nine boys and girls according to the old, blood ritual. For three days and nights they danced around the pyre, drunken out of their minds. After that they made the city governor and what was left of his army pledge their allegiance to them, that they will help Azazel defeat you and become the new king."

Now Uldred understands why he had been feeling so down. One of his fathers and his vassals broke the oath. The sadness creeps into the king's eyes. How could Azazel do such things? Hadn't he been the one who always helped Hedric defeat various enemies and saved his life many times? Had gods sent madness upon Azazel, for his mind to be so obviously clouded?

"Are the news trustworthy? What if they are exaggerated and Azazel had a reason to attack Veermons?" Uldred clings to the last hope, that maybe his vassal is innocent and they've been fed with shameful lies.

"I wish they were lies, your majesty." Robert sighs quietly. "It is very hard for me to believe that Azazel would betray you and break the sacred oath."

"Let's leave it be for the present. After my heir is born we will find a way to unveil his true intentions and if they prove to be right, we will punish the oath breaker." Uldred stands up from the throne. "Go and get some sleep. We will go hunting tomorrow early in the morning."

Robert nods and follows behind the king, thinking about a plan of how to unmask Azazel and make his intentions public.

* * *

The next day at the dawn Uldred and his suit with servants and hounds went to the forest of Seven Spirits. Robert had been trying to make the king change his mind, due to the old wound but Uldred would not listen. "I will rest when I am dead," he would say laughing. After a several attempts Robert had given up.

"I wonder what they are doing here?" Uldred points at the flock of crows flying in circles above the forest. "It's like they are waiting for something."

"It's just a flock of silly birds, my lord. Don't let them bother you," Robert chuckles. "Eventually they will fly away."

"Who knows," the king mumbles under his nose too quietly for someone to hear him.

Uldred spurs his horse and the animal gallops towards the forest, followed by lord Robert and the rest of the suit. The dogs start to bark deafeningly, smelling the scent of a deer. The servants blow the horns, beat the steel drums and with ear-splitting shrieks run into the woods. The noise is so horrendous that the king frowns and even Robert mumbles curses under his breath. It all has one purpose, to frighten the hunted animal but the damn noise caused by the king's servants will scare not only the animals but any human being who's unfortunate enough to be wandering in the woods at this time. Not that there will be many people, but still there can be some peasants, trying to gather some woods beforehand, until the cold weathers hit.

The path the riders have chosen is getting narrower, until it's impossible for the horses to pass through; only men on foot can continue walking through the horny bushes and tall weeds. Uldred wouldn't be able to walk for a long time due to his irritated wound, therefore Robert suggested they turned around and choose another path along the small river.

"If we stay and wait near the river, the prey will definitely run towards us and we can easily kill whatever the dogs are chasing," Robert assumes.

His words are liked by the king and they do as the king's general advised. They turn around and pass maple trees, listening to birds' chirping. The barking of dogs and neighing of horses are getting near, as the other sounds, the sounds of breaking twigs and angry roaring. Well, it seems like instead of a deer their prey is a bear. And a big one, judging by the heavy stomping sounds.

Uldred draws the bow, ready to shoot the arrow as soon as the beast appears from behind the bushes. The horses smell the scent of the bear and neigh frightened, rearing nervously. The king and the rest of his suits try to calm the horses down when a bear of enormous size appears from behind the trees, running directly towards the king.

Uldred doesn't listen to Robert's warning shout and shoots the first arrow, which hits the beast in its shoulder, only making it angrier. The bear, enraged from pain and confusion all around him, stands on its hind legs and attacks the king's horse. Robert or any other man from Uldred's suit don't have chance to react as the horses neigh anxiously and gallop away, not obeying to their riders. Before Robert dismounts his horse to help the king, Uldred is already on the ground, fighting the beast face to face. After a several wounds caused by the king's sword, he bear runs towards the river with the king following suit.

When finally Robert and the rest of the king's men manage to reach the river bank, they see a dead bear lying sprawled out on the ground.

"Where is the king?" asks one of the lords, looking around. "He should be here."

Robert squints his eyes, scanning the surroundings when his gaze falls upon the dead beast.

"Gods have mercy!" he yells, frightened, and rushes toward the bear. "Don't stand like idiots, help me move this!"

With the help of five more men, Robert drags the dead beast's body aside and kneels beside the bloody, panting king.

"Are you alright, your majesty?" His voice cracks.

"I have not felt so good in many years," Uldred replies chuckling. "I am alive do not worry about me. Just help me up."

After careful examination the healers say that all the bones are intact and that the king has only small gashes and bruises. Uldred is taken and laid upon soft furs in the shadows under an oak tree. The dead bear is carried by twelve servants and put into a special carrier.

It's almost noon when a messenger reaches the king's temporary camp with loud and anxious shouts.

"Your majesty!" A young boy, age of fourteen-fifteen runs towards Uldred, screaming.

"What is it?" The king sits up, recognizing a groom in the boy.

"Your majesty, queen Nolween went into labor!" the boy pants, wiping the sweat off of his forehead. His light brown eyes sparkle from excitement and the king can't help but smile at the pure joy of the boy's face. It's so nice to see people genuinely happy and anticipating the birth of the throne's heir.

"I see you are happy," Uldred says gently. "Can't wait to see my child?"

"Yes, my king. I can't wait to see your son." The boy grins at the king.

"Son? How do you know it's a boy? What if it's a little girl?" Uldred chuckles. Of course he hopes that it's a boy but what if gods decided to give him a girl?

"No, my king. I know it's a boy," the little groom says so confidently that his words cause laughter.

"Here, take this. You earned it." Uldred gives him a few gold coins and the boy almost chokes; it's more than his annual salary.

"Thank you my king. I will be the most loyal groom to you and your son, you have ever had." The boy bows respectfully.

"We need to hurry up," the king says and gives a sign to decamp and return to the fortress. "You can come with us. Get in the carrier if you are not afraid of dead bears." Uldred smiles and ruffles the boy's hair.

* * *

As soon as they are back at the fortress, Uldred almost runs into the queen's chambers, which is full of midwives and servants.

Nolween is lying in the bed with a small bundle in her arms, smiling lovingly at it.

"You are back," the woman says gently, looking at her husband softly.

"Yes, my love." Uldred walks towards her bed, bends down and kisses her in the lips. "I see you finished the job while I was away hunting." He looks down at the bundle – a sleeping baby in his wife's arms.

"Yes. The baby wouldn't wait for your return." Nolween lets out a small chuckle. "It's a boy. The gods gave us the desired heir for our kingdom, Uldred." Her eyes glitter like aquamarines under the sun rays. "Would you like to hold him?"

"Of course," Uldred takes the bundle from his wife carefully, pressing it to his chest. "Well, hello my son and welcome to this world."

The baby opens his eyes and looks at his father, twitching his little fingers. He yawns languidly but doesn't take his gaze off of the king.

"He has your eyes, darling," Uldred says, admiring the blue eyes of his newborn son.

"Yes, but the rest he has inherited from you." Nolween smiles, squeezing her husband's hand gently. "What should we name him? Do you have a name chosen?"

"Yes. I've been thinking about the baby's name a lot. I would like his name to be Castiel, if you don't mind." The king waits for the queen's approval.

"Castiel… It's a beautiful name. Let it be so then." Nolween nods her agreement.

"Good. You should rest now, my love. They will take care of the baby," Uldred points at her servants.

"No, I must feed him first. Then we will both sleep," Nolween takes the baby from her husband's arms.

"Oh, right. Feed him well. I will see you later," Uldred laughs, kisses his wife again and leaves her chambers.

The flock of numerous crows, which had been flying above the forest, moved towards the fortress, performing their dance of doom above the high walls of Sirnamor fortress.


	7. Chapter 7

Uldred's kingdom, where the king, his family and the suit live at the Sirnamor fortress is called Vali Isuria. According to the legend one of the main twelve gods, the protector of nature had been travelling around the world and had came to these lands, which were not inhabited at that time. The abundance of nature there was so beautiful and relaxing that the god had blessed the land, its grounds, rivers and forests. Since then Vali Isuria's lands had prospered as people had begun to come from different places to settle down.

The kingdom is rich with wheat and barley fields, grassy hills with fat cows and sheep, which give delicious milk and famous grayish cheese, highly demanded in neighboring lands. The left bank of the river Othra is famous for its beautiful orchards. Apple, pear, peach and cherry trees are a mesmerizing sight to see in spring. The scent that lingers in the air can make one's head spin. Forests and rivers are full of beasts, birds and aquatic life good for hunting and fishing.

The first people who had settled and inhabited the land had formed the city which they called Vali Isuria, which meant "Bright like the sun". The walls surrounding the city were made of the stone, glistening and shining blindingly under the burning red ball in the sky.

Vali Isuria had many wise kings and rulers. They'd lived in peace and had very friendly relationships with neighboring lands. Uldred's great grandfather was one of the first kings to rule the kingdom. People say he was so wise that sometimes even gods would come to him for advice.

Unfortunately times change and when Uldred had become a king the situation had quickly gotten worse. Out of nowhere old friends had become enemies, knitting the web of intrigues to get closer and usurp the throne. The king had been afraid for his newborn son's life.

The feast and the presentation of the prince to the public is decided to take place fourteen days after the prince's birth. As the priests of the moon temple tell the king, the celestial body will be full by that time, the best time for foretelling the baby's future. Uldred agrees and gives an order to send messengers to his vassals, allies, relatives and friends, inviting them to the feast to celebrate the prince's birth. Since the formation of Vali Isuria the priests of the moon temple have predicted the futures of the throne's heirs, and Uldred hopes that Castiel's future is benevolent towards him and the kingdom.

* * *

Many lords and honorable guests come to the ceremony on the appointed date. Many of them are truly happy for Uldred and the baby prince, waiting patiently to see the tiny heir to the throne. Azazel and his son Alastair are among the guests. Uldred had asked Robert to keep an eye on them and inform the king if he noticed anything suspicious. He had not yet decided what to do with the traitors, though Robert had advised he simply behead them. Uldred had chosen to wait a little longer and spy on the two of them first.

The first part of the ceremony, feasting, ends late at night. It's almost midnight when the guests start gathering in the great hall in front of the throne. At midnight the priests will bring the baby prince into the hall to introduce him to the guests and make a prediction about his and the kingdom's future.

There is a golden basin on the marble altar in the center of the hall, filled with icy-cold water. According to the tradition the new born princes were placed in the cold water together with moonstones. At midnight the moon would shine through the hole made in the roof of the fortress, illuminating the basin with the prince in it. Observing the moon's position, the baby's behavior and the color of the moonstones the priests would make forecasts about the heir's and the kingdom's fate. Not even once had the priests forseen ill fate for the kingdom and hopefully they wouldn't fail this time either.

The chairs had been brought from the feasting hall and aligned in front the basin. The lords, vassals, the king's friends and all the rest of the guests had occupied their seats with their flag bearers standing behind their backs, holding their banners to show the emblems of their houses.

The hushed whispers and murmurs die out one by one when the priests enter the hall, leading the procession of ladies-in-waiting and the queen Nolween holding the newborn prince. Castiel is sleeping peacefully in her arms, wrapped up in an expensive azure silk. Uldred, sitting on the throne can't help but smile at the sight. The crowd lets out an appreciative sound and hushed laughter.

The priests stop at the basin, waiting for the chief priest Nalak to proceed. The chief priest is the oldest inhabitant of the kingdom, more than hundred and twenty years old, with long, white hair and eyes of the ripe plum color.

"My lady," Nalak addresses the queen. "Hand me the heir of the kingdom, please."

"Of course," Nolween smiles, throwing a careful glance at the still sleeping Castiel before handing him to the chief priest. Her heart wrenches when Nalak's bony fingers start to unwrap the silk around the baby.

The moon slowly rises and swims towards the roof of the fortress to shine through the hole and stretch its rays down to the basin where Nalak is preparing baby Castiel to put into the icy-cold water.

As soon as the moon peeks into the hole in the roof, the chief priest's hands submerge the sleeping child into the water. Castiel startled by sudden, unpleasant feeling wakes up and starts screaming. His wails of despair resound sharply in the walls of the fortress. The baby keeps screeching and kicking his tiny legs, flailing in the priest's hands but somehow Nalak doesn't seem to hurry up and pull Castiel out of the basin, though the child has turned blue from the cold water.

"What is it, Nalak?" Uldred asks worriedly. He doesn't want Castiel to fall ill from being in the freezing water for so long.

"I am looking at the rays and the moonstones, my king." Nalak's raspy voice doesn't sound soothing.

'What do you see, please tell us," Nolween pleads the priest.

"That's the problem, my lady. I cannot see anything. The stones have not changed the color and the moon rays are not enough for the forecasting." Nalak shows mercy and pulls Castiel out of the water, handing him to one of the ladies-in-wait, who dries the prince and wraps up in a towel. The child's screams and hiccups subdue, turning into soft whimpers. The woman gives the baby to his mother and Nolween rocks her son in her arms, crooning something into his ear.

"What does that mean? Is it a bad sign?" Azazel stirs on his seat, glancing from the priest to the throne's heir. Oh how he wishes it was so!

"It means that the moon god does not want to tell us about his future. Perhaps he has reasons for hiding his future." Nalak leans on his staff.

"But there has not been an occasion when the kingdom's and the prince's fate had not been forecasted. Why now?" Uldred sounds very upset. Does it mean that all the celebration, the feast and the torments his newborn son went through was in vain?

"I am powerless against the gods, my king." Nalak lowers his head and gestures to the other priests to leave the hall, causing confused whispers amongst the public.

"Your majesty," a deep voice sounds from the depth of the hall. "I can forecast the prince's future if you allow me."

"Who is speaking? Come out." Uldred squints his eyes, trying to see who he is talking to.

It's Bessabel, a former slave Uldred's father bought from merchants a long time ago. Bessabel had been thirteen year old boy when Hedric saved him from only gods know what fate. Since then the boy had been living at the fortress, helping the chief groom with horses and foals.

As Bessabel grew, he became a well-known healer, tamer of birds and beasts, enchanter and fortuneteller. People of Vali Isuria both respected and feared him, telling various stories how Bessabel tamed an enormous red snake, which lived in his chambers and helped its master in dark deeds. Mothers would frighten their stubborn children with Bessabel and his snake, though no one had ever seen the snake with their own eyes.

"Bessabel, it's you," Nolween nods to the small, bald man clad in a green robe. She holds a great deal of respect for him, as the man has helped the queen so many times, giving her mixtures for bad headaches she would have through the pregnancy.

"Yes, my lady. I am ready to forecast the prince's future, if the king allows me to." The man stares at Uldred expectantly.

Uldred sighs. He would prefer the priests to do the ritual but as they have failed, Bessabel is his only hope. "You have my permission. You may begin," Uldred nods his agreement.

"My king, before I start the forecasting I need you to promise me something," Bessabel chuckles quietly.

"And what would that be?" Uldred arches his brow amused.

"I would like you to give me the king's word that if I see a bad sign for your son's future, you will not harm me in any way."

The words stir a loud rumble between the guests.

"This sounds interesting," Azazel tells his son.

"I already think that the prince will not have a bright future. The omens earlier were not good," Alastair leans towards his father to whisper into his ear.

Uldred raises his hand to hush the crowd.

"You have my word, Bessabel. I will not harm or punish you no matter how bad my son's future may seem. Please begin."

"Thank you, my king. Let us begin then." Bessabel walks towards the basin, muttering and humming unfamiliar words under his breath, probably summoning the spirits to help him in the ritual.


	8. Chapter 8

To predict the future of the baby and the kingdom Bessabel needs a few things, like a drop of the newborn prince's blood, a raven's feather, powder of dead and dried lizards and a grain of salt.

The queen can't help it and a few stray tears roll down her beautiful face when once again the baby is taken from her arms and carried to the basin, where Bessabel quickly and effectively pricks his little finger to draw out blood. Castiel's screams once again fill the hall. It seems there's no rest for the poor child.

Bessabel mixes Castiel's blood, a lizard's powder and the salt into the water stirring it with the feather of the black raven. His subdued mutterings and crooning is all that can be heard in the hall. Uldred, the queen, the suit and the guests are sitting motionless, staring at the man performing the ritual. Everyone seems to be afraid of moving or even breathing loud, like it can distract the former slave.

Meanwhile Bessabel finishes his incantation and stares in to the basin, contemplating the circles on the surface of the water created from stirring. For a short while he is silent. His body is tense but motionless. Uldred's patience is wearing thin and he wants to ask what in gods' name Bessabel sees, if he sees anything at all, when the man coughs and turns to the king.

"Your majesty, protectors of the night and the spirits in my service have shown the future of the kingdom's heir. Castiel will be one of the wisest, strongest and most undefeated rulers this kingdom ever had. His future is bright and the kingdom will prosper under his guidance. Vali Isuria will be invincible."

Deafening noises of cheers and merry shouts sound from every corner and people clap their hands, expressing their joy for the propitious forecast. Uldred kisses his wife's hand, smiling at her gently.

"Bessabel, you will receive a lot of gold for your service. You never stop to amaze me." Uldred stands up and walks towards the man.

"I don't need gold, my king. All I need is my herbs and mixtures. I am running out of some rare seeds and roots. If you could assist me in this matter, my gratitude would be immense." Bessabel bows respectfully as Uldred approaches him.

"Of course. It will be done." The king squeezes Bessabel's shoulder. "As our thank to gods, we will make a sacrifice and have another feast tomorrow. We have another reason to celebrate."

Under another uproar of joyous shouts the king is ready to return to his throne when Bessabel leans towards his ear.

"I would like to speak to you, my king after the guests leave the hall."

Uldred turns around surprised. "Is there something else you want to tell me?"

The sorcerer nods. "And I need us to be alone."

Unpleasant doubts tug at Uldred's heart but he tries not to show it and look nonchalant. "Of course. I will be here. Come back as soon as everyone returns to their chambers."

* * *

Three hours later when every living soul at the fortress has gone to their beds Bessabel returns to the hall where Uldred is sitting on the throne. The king looks like a statue with a frowning, thoughtful face. His always smiling and kind eyes are closed in deep concentration, while hands are firmly gripping the armrests of the throne. Bessabel clears his throat and withdraws the king from his thoughts.

"I apologize, my king for disturbing you."

Uldred raises his hand, gesturing that everything is well and motions the man towards him. "It's alright. I was not sleeping. Just thinking about your words. Why do I have a feeling that you have not told us everything you saw in the water?"

Bessabel takes a deep breath. "My king, you will not like the words I am going to tell you now."

"What are you talking about?" Uldred frowns.

"When I announced Castiel's future, I lied, your majesty." The words that leave Bessabel's mouth sound like a clap of thunder in the sky.

"What?" Uldred rasps. "Why would you do that?"

"My king, I had a reason to do so. There were your enemies present in the hall. I can see a man's soul by looking in his eyes. One glance is enough for me to know all the deepest and darkest desires his heart carries. Had I told the truth, they would not hesitate to attack and try to destroy the kingdom, knowing that it was written by the gods."

"I-I don't… understand…" Uldred whispers shocked. "Are you trying to say that…"

"Castiel will bring a great shame to the kingdom, my king. The omens and the future are not bright. The kingdom more likely will fall because of him." Bessabel's sorrowful gaze falls on the floor. "Gods know I don't want anything bad to happen to the child or our kingdom but you also know that I cannot hide the truth from you."

Uldred can't believe his ears. Everything had seemed so wonderful just a few hours ago and he'd been in a wonderful mood only to be shocked to the core later that night.

"So, you are saying that my son will ruin the kingdom when he gets older?" Uldred paces back and forth in the hall, cracking his knuckles nervously.

"I am terribly sorry but yes. The reason of the kingdom's fall will be caused by Castiel," Bessabel sighs.

"How? Did you see how?" Uldred stops pacing, staring at the sorcerer.

"That I did not see, my king. When I do the forecasting the spirits show me a paper with answers written on them. In this case the paper read:  _'Shame and tears are what the young heir will bring to the kingdom, throwing it to the beast for laceration_.'"

"I don't understand anything." Uldred grabs his head in despair. "These words are obscure and not telling me much. What should we do to prevent the awful things from happening? Is there a way to avert such fate? Tell me Bessabel! Tell me what to do!" the king shouts pleadingly.

The sorcerer falls silent, avoiding the king's gaze. Many men had tried to fight against ill-fate, they had fought tooth and nail, doing all they could. There had been moments when it seemed that they had succeeded but in the last minute all would appear to be lost. What's written by gods cannot be changed.

"No one can fight against the destiny, my king. My advice would be to enjoy the time which is left before Castiel grows up. Try to take pleasure in spending time with him and your beautiful queen. And when he becomes adult, who knows maybe gods will change their mind and have mercy on us all. Though, I cannot recall any occasion when they had changed someone's destiny." The former slave smiles bitterly, feeling terrible that he is helpless to do anything.

"Thank you," Uldred says suddenly. "I appreciate what you have done. And you will still get your herbs, as I promised. Now, I would like to be left alone." Uldred returns to his throne with heavy steps.

"Yes, my king." Bessabel bows and goes out of the hall, leaving devastated Uldred behind the massive wooden door.


	9. Chapter 9

When the time comes for the guests to return to their homes, Azazel and his son decide to see Uldred. The king seems exhausted and Alastair shares an insinuating look with his father.

"Are you feeling well, my king?" Azazel asks with fake concern in his voice.

"It's nothing to worry about," Uldred assures him. "Just a sleepless night. It can get quite hot in Vali Isuria at times."

"Yes, we have experienced the wrath of the local weather," Azazel nods. "This is why we wanted to invite you, Queen Nolween and the baby prince to our fortress of Seven Falcons in five days. I believe the air in our lands is fresher and your health will benefit from it."

"Thank you for your offer, Azazel. I will consider it," Uldred smiles gently. It does not matter what his guests' intentions are, he has to play a polite host.

After the guests depart and Uldred returns to the hall, he discusses the recent talk he had with Azazel with Robert.

"As far as I know in five days they will have a festival in honor of the deities protecting their house and bloodline," Robert informs the king. "And it's a very important matter for them."

"I really do not want to go," Uldred says suddenly, which is not a surprise for Robert. Who knows what Azazel's plans will be if the king and his family arrive at Seven Falcons?

"I understand," Robert says. "If you allow, I can go there and try to gather more tidings. We still do not know what exactly happened with Veermons."

"That would be nice. And you could apologize in my name, saying the queen fell ill and I could not leave her." Uldred rubs his hands, feeling relieved that he will not have to leave the fortress, which means he has more time to think about Bessabel's prophecy and the ways how to avoid it.

And it appears Robert will not have to sneak around Seven Falcons for rumors and tidings, as the messenger from Veermons arrives at the fortress at midnight. He is panting and breathing heavily when he approaches the throne. Uldred would sit in the hall till late for the last two days.

"My king," the messenger begins. "Edga sent me to inform you about atrocities Azazel and his son have committed in our land. Edga refused to break the oath of allegiance given to you and help Azazel to usurp the throne. They raided our land, slayed and massacred innocents including infants. There are only eight hundred people left amongst the living from three thousand. We have six more days to change our minds and take his side, otherwise he will come again and kill everyone. Edga asks for your help, my king." The messenger fumbles in the folds of his tunic and pulls out something wrapped in a cloth.

"This is the proof, my king," he says and hands the thing to Uldred.

It's an arrrow-head with a roaring bear head engraved on it. The symbol of Azazel's house. Uldred and Robert share a look. They have enough news and proof for Azazel's treason.

"Tomorrow morning you will return to Veermonun and tell Edga that he should expect my warriors in five days. Now, my servants will feed you and take you to your chambers." The king dismisses the messenger.

"What are your plans regarding Azazel, my king?" Robert sits down next to Uldred.

"My head is like a hive. Too many thoughts are buzzing through it. I may have more specific ideas in the morning but I need to see Bessabel first. Get some sleep, Robert." Uldred taps his friend's shoulder and stands up to go and find the sorcerer who has predicted the ominous future for his son.

* * *

As if awaiting for the king to appear, Bessabel is sitting at his table with old parchments unfolded in front of him. A thick, yellow candle is melting, dripping hot wax on the wooden surface.

"How may I help you, your majesty?" The former slave stands up, bowing respectfully.

"How much do you know about poisons, Bessabel?" Uldred asks cryptically.

The sorcerer smiles. "I can say we are practically married. What would you like to know, my king? Is there a specific poison you would like to know about?"

"Yes," the king clears his throat. "Is there a poison that can kill a man not by drinking it but if it comes in contact with skin?"

Bessabel squints his eyes, doubts rising up in his head but he doesn't show it. "There is one which can kill a man in a few hours. Do you need this poison, my king?"

Uldred takes out a golden ring with a big, square shaped topaz in it. "If I wanted to put this ring in that poison and give it to a man in a few days, would the poison be still active or it would lose its effectiveness?"  
"It would still be effective. This is a unique poison," Bessabel assures him.

"Then do it. Put this ring in that poison and give it back when I tell you. I will need it in three days." Uldred hands him the ring.

"Of course," Bessabel takes the jewelry. "As you wish."

The king turns around and leaves the sorcerer's room without saying anything more. Bessabel studies the ring for a while before going to his cupboard for the necessary ingredients of the required poison.

* * *

After three days Robert departs for the Seven Falcons fortress. The trip will take two days and he will reach Azazel's land exactly on the day of festival. There are fifty warriors and four priests accompanying him on his way to his destination.

Despite the proof they've already had, Robert had promised the king to keep his ears strained for more useful information.

The priests would make the procession stop every hour, so they could pray and ask their protecting gods for their blessings.  
There are only five hundred feet left till the fortress when Azazel and his son with their men meet the guests on their way.

Azazel approaches Robert and greets him amicably. "I am glad to see you, Lord Robert. I don't see the king, did he not come?"

"Queen Nolween fell ill and he couldn't leave her. He wanted me to apologize on his behalf," Robert says confidently.

"What a pity," Alastair adds in his nasal voice. "It would've been so nice to see them here."

"Yes, indeed. Maybe next time. I hope the queen gets better soon." Azazel clicks his tongue. "How is the baby prince?"

"Castiel is a strong, healthy child. He is well, may the gods bless him," Robert says affectionately.

"Yes, yes of course. Come, dear guests. Please follow us."Azazel gestures towards the fortress and turns his red mare around. The horse snorts, pricking its ears but obeys her master's order.

The procession led by the owner of the Seven Falcons fortress resumes their walk on the dusty, narrow road. One turn is replaced by another one, taking the horsemen higher and higher through green hills.

After taking the final turn to the left, they are able to see the Seven Falcons Fortress. Azazel has always been a clever man and that's why he'd chosen such a perfect location for the fortress, knowing how hard it would be for enemies to reach and attack it.

Looking at the fortress, which looks like a stone giant crowned by clouds, Robert swallows hard, knowing well that he is about to enter a nest of vipers.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the short chapter but I just couldn't write a longer one due to some specific reasons.

 

The priests and the fifty warriors, who had been accompanying Robert to Azazel's fortress, are seated beside him at the feasting table. Azazel, his wife Lilith and their son Alastair are seated at Robert's right side.

Lilith had met their guests with arrogant politeness, not showing any emotions, whether positive or negative. Robert couldn't read any hidden intentions behind her green eyes, though he was sure she knew about her husband's and son's true intentions.

Azazel's servants are busy bringing in new meals and drinks for their master's honorable guests. Delicious, mouth-watering smells tease the hungry men's nostrils. After a small speech to thank their protecting deities, made by the master of the Seven Falcon's fortress, Azazel gives a sign of approval and the guests begin to eat with sighs of relief.

"Try the fish, my dear guest." Azazel offers fried fat carp, cat-fish and salmon to Robert. "I have caught them myself."

"Thank you, they taste delicious," Robert nods, taking a small bite of a fish.

"They're cooked by Lilith's special recipe." Azazel glances at his wife.

"It's wonderful, milady." Robert nods to her respectfully.

"It was my pleasure, lord Robert," her smooth, velvety voice murmurs. She is a very beautiful lady but cold like a statue.

The rest of the feast continues in a surprisingly pleasant atmosphere with musicians playing in the background. Everyone enjoys tasty meals and praises the hostess. Robert listens to Azazel, who is telling him that the salmon are especially tasty in this time of the year. They swim up the river, getting ready to lay eggs and if Robert decides to stay for a while at their fortress, Azazel will feed him fresh fish every day. Of course Robert can't stay that long and he politely refuses, not forgetting to thank the host for his kindness.

* * *

After the feast is over, four hours of eating and drinking that is, Azazel leads Robert to his famous garden with a golden fountain in the middle of it. There are marble armchairs with lion heads for armrests and the two men take a seat in them. Azazel seems to be deep in thought, occasional concern showing on his face. Alastair is with the rest of the guests according to his father's command. It must be some serious matter which is worrying Azazel as this is the third time he asks Robert about baby prince's well being.

Half an hour passes during their small talk, during which they drink delicious wine and Azazel complains about lazy servants and how expensive it is to keep them, when a messenger appears in the garden and approaches the owner of the Seven Falcons fortress.

"My lord," the young man begins. He's sweaty and dusty from being on the road, probably for many hours.

"I apologize, Robert. Hope you don't mind if I talk to this young fellow." Azazel smiles awkwardly, his yellowish eyes staring at the guest expectantly.

"By all means," Robert raises his hands. "Take your time. I will just enjoy this fine wine."

Azazel and the messenger walk away from Robert, towards the oldest tree in the garden. There are approximately thirty feet between them but the king's general can still clearly see their faces; how the messenger stutters some words, paling and fidgeting, how Azazel's face is growing whiter and getting a lost expression. Robert assumes that the messenger brought bad tidings for the host: that the king has sent reinforcement to Veermons and that Azazel's plan is failing.

Azazel dismisses the messenger and with not so steady steps returns to his guest, sitting in the armchair with a heavy thud.

"Is everything well, lord Azazel?" Robert asks out of politeness.

"What? Ah, yes, yes, there's nothing to worry about," comes the absentminded reply. "It's just that my dearest cousin has fallen down from a horse and broken both of his legs." Azazel's lie does not sound convincing at all.

"Oh, that's terrible," Robert decides to play along. "Men of our age should be more careful. Broken bones and wounds take a lot more time to heal. If they heal at all. Everything is in the gods' hands." Robert glances up towards the sky, as if trying to see them in there.

"Of course. Let's drink to my cousin, Lord Arnac's quick recovery." Azazel raises his goblet.

"Indeed. To his health." Robert follows his example. He doesn't miss the host's clenching fist and white knuckles.

* * *

To Azazel's big surprise Robert informs him that due to various and urgent reasons he needs to be back by the king's side as soon as possible.

It's early morning and all the inhabitants of the Seven Falcons fortress are in the courtyard to see their guests off. Azazel, Lilith, Alastair, their warriors and servants are all lined up in front up Robert and his men.

"I have a special gift for you," Robert turns to Alastair. "It's from Uldred." He pulls out a small wooden box with carved shamrock leaves on the lid.

Alastair takes the box from Robert, quickly opening it. There, on the black velvet lays the fatal ring Uldred has given to his general, with the topaz stone, shimmering ominously.

"How splendid," Alastair smiles lopsidedly, taking the ring out of the box. "This ring could buy a whole kingdom." He shares a glance with his parents, chuckling slightly. "I appreciate the king's gift." Alastair puts the ring on his middle finger of the right hand, turning it towards the public, listening to their awed exclamations.

"As I said this is a special ring, I should say magical" Robert begins. "The legend says that if the ring was gifted to an innocent man with a pure heart, it would make him the luckiest person in the whole world, but if he were guilty, with hidden, dark intentions, he would be punished severely by the power of the ring." Robert makes sure that his voice is heard in the whole courtyard.

There is a shadow of worrying flashing on Alastair's face but he quickly puts on a nonchalant expression. "When should I wait for my portion of good luck then?"

His words break the awkward tension and there are muffled sounds of laughter in the background, amongst the warriors.

"I suppose, soon, lord Alastair." Robert laughs throatily. "Well, it's time for us to leave your lovely house. I will inform the king about your hospitality. My lady?" Robert bows and kisses Lilith's smooth, pale hand.

"May gods bless you, lord Robert. Have a safe trip back to the king's fortress." Lilith smiles coldly at him.

* * *

As soon as they depart from the Seven Falcons fortress and its high walls are far behind them, Robert turns to his men, saying:

"Spur your horses and don't stop riding till we reach the Valley of Gallow Trees. We should expect chasers soon."

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you can't wait to see Dean enter the fic, but you will have to wait till chapter 14 ;) And also, expect some shocking surprise in the next chapter!

Azazel is going through letters scattered on his table when he hears an ear-splitting scream. A yellow parchment falls out of his hand and chills run down his spine as he recognizes the voice. It belongs to his wife Lilith. The owner of the Seven Falcons fortress stands up on his shaking legs, grabbing the edge of the table and looks at the door of his enormous library, rich with books. What could have been the cause of his wife's distress? With unsteady steps Azazel leaves the room to find the answer.

He finds Lilith in the main hall, surrounded by servants. She's kneeling and fussing over something or... someone. The woman's whole body is trembling.

"Our son," she rasps, looking up at her husband with reddened eyes, "is dead."

"What?" Azazel reels, almost falling on the floor. The servants unblock his way and the man kneels beside his wife.

"Oh no, no, noo!" he wails when his gaze falls upon Alastair's dead and pale face.

Alastair lies stiff on the floor; his cold, blue eyes stare back at his father but they are unseeing. A small, barely noticeable trickle of foam has gathered in the corner of his lips.

"My son... how... why?" Azazel looks around, glaring at the servants. "When did this happen? How? Tell me!"

"I was carrying water, my lord, when Master Alastair stumbled into the hall... and... and he just fell down without a word," a young sobbing maiden stutters. "He had a hard time breathing and… he was clutching at his throat..." the girl continues to cry bitterly.

"What should we do, my lord? Should we inform the king and your relatives? Do you want me to send chasers after Robert and his men?" asks the bailiff of the fortress.

"No!" Azazel hisses. "No one says a word or takes any actions until I decide what to do! You understand me?"

The bailiff and the servants nod.

"Take his body to his chamber. Come, Lilith we have a long day ahead." Azazel helps his wife to her feet and leads the distraught woman out of the hall.

The remaining people in the hall hear Lilith's screams and curses lingering in the walls of the Seven Falcons fortress. Gods have sent a great misfortune to their master and the servants shudder in fear, not knowing if they will be the next target of the wrathful deities. With fearful thoughts they begin to fulfill the command Azazel has given them and carry Alastair's body to his chamber.

As to Azazel, his mind may be hazed, but even in this state he can feel that it has something to do with Robert's visit; that the king is related to his son's death.

* * *

When the darkness falls and guards light up torches on the walls of the fortress, Azazel finds Lilith walking through the garden, going towards their familial vault, where Azazel's ancestors are buried.

The man follows her silently, hiding behind thick magnolia trees, wondering what she has on her mind.

Meanwhile Lilith stops in front of the vault, looking at the old, moss-covered walls.

"I know you are following me. No need for hiding," she says calmly.

Azazel flinches; his wife has this frightening ability to sense people nearby. He comes out of his hiding place, standing next to her.

"What are you doing here?" he asks her doubtfully. "Is there something that you need?"

Lilith turns to her husband with an unreadable expression on her face. It's been almost thirty years that Azazel has been married to her and he still can't fathom her thoughts.

"Tell me what you are thinking about?" The man takes her hand, kissing her delicate fingers.

"I had a lot of time to think," she begins. "I thought of every possibility that could have caused our son's death but almost all of them are unreasonable. Except one. And by the look on your face, I know that you have thought about it too," Lilith cups her husband's cheek. "Azazel, there is only one explanation I can think of. The king was informed about your deeds in Veermonun and your future plans and he punished us by taking our son's life, as he would take the throne after Uldred's murder."

"I have thought about it but how… how would the king kill our son? He was not here." Azazel begins to pace anxiously.

"Through Robert," Lilith says firmly. "He did it through him!"

"But how?" Azazel exclaims. "There are no wounds, stabs, even scratches on Alastair's body! The food and wine were not poisoned, so our son could not die of poisoning, even if he had drunk from a different cup. Unless Robert is a warlock and practices dark magic, I don't know what to think of!" Azazel bangs his fist against a tree trunk and groans in despair.

A sudden silence filled only with crickets' song makes Azazel turn around and his met with his wife's wide eyes. Lilith looks like she's just seen a ghost.

"Are you alright?" the man asks worriedly.

"Magic..." the woman mumbles. "The word magic," she whispers frantically. "It sounds familiar. Where have I heard this word?" Lilith continues her vague muttering.

"What are you talking about?" Azazel blinks confused, not understanding a word his wife is muttering.

"Magic… the ring…It's the ring!" Lilith grabs her husband's shirt. "Do you remember that Robert gave a gift to our son? He said it was from Uldred!"

Azazel wheezes out. Indeed, before his departure Robert gave an expensive ring to Alastair as the gift from the king.

"Yes, I remember," he rasps out. Now things are getting clearer in his mind.

"Do you remember what he said about the ring?" Lilith's voice is shaking, on the edge of sobbing.

"That if the ring was gifted to an innocent man with a pure heart, it would make him the luckiest person in the whole world, but if he were guilty, with hidden, dark intentions, he would be punished severely by the power of the ring," Azazel quotes Robert and sits down on a bench nearby, feeling like a mountain has fallen upon his head.

"It's the ring, Azazel. It has something to do with the ring." Lilith sits down next to him. "I am certain that Uldred killed our son with the help of the ring." The woman begins to crack her knuckles nervously.

"But what if Gods punished us for our intentions?" Azazel starts humbly, still believing it was a punishment from the higher forces.

Lilith laughs loud and bitterly. "Do you seriously believe in this? Gods have nothing to do with it. It's all Uldred!"

"It's only words. We do not have a proof that…" Azazel is cut off by his wife.

"I will show you the proof. Come with me!"

There is so much confidence in her words that the man rises from his seat and follows the woman absentmindedly. Lilith has always been a clever, dexterous, farseeing woman. A perfect match for Azazel.

* * *

They enter Alastair's chamber where their son's dead body is lying on the bed. The torches on the walls give enough light for the task which the deceased's parents have come for.

"My lady, how can I help you?" A young girl, no more than seventeen comes into the chamber, where Lilith and Azazel are standing at the foot of the bed.

"I want you to take the ring off of his finger and hold it for a while," Lilith orders her.

The girl swallows hard and obeys. She takes Alastair's stiff hand and with quite an effort manages to slide the ring off.

"Now move away and hold it." After the girl does as she's told, Lilith bends down and takes a good look at her son's hand. There is a black circle on his finger, right under where the ring used to touch his skin.

"Azazel," the woman says, her voice cracking. "Look."

Azazel follows her example and closes his eyes when he sees the proof.

"I will not leave it like this. I swear!" He grits his teeth and wants to add something but a loud thud cuts him off.

The girl holding the ring is flailing on the floor, her eyes are rolling back in her head. She has hard time breathing and is making choking sounds.

"He…lp me…P-p…lease…" She chokes out, making a final inhale before quieting forever.

"I want Uldred, his wife and Castiel to be murdered! But I want you to torture Castiel first and make his father watch it! Let him experience all the bitterness and despair he made us go through! Promise me, Azazel that you will avenge our son! That the king will suffer and you will kill his family!" Lilith screams in the face of her husband.

"I swear to Gods, I will not rest until Uldred pays for everything!" Azazel wipes the tears off of his face with a trembling hand.

"We will need allies. Good, strong allies," Lilith gesticulates fervently. "You have no allies currently. And no one will help us after they hear about the reinforcement sent to Veermons. They will hide even more now, like cowardly rats. You must find new allies, do you hear me?"

"It's not that easy. As you said, they will be afraid to turn their backs on Uldred. I don't know where to seek allies, Lilith." The man sighs deeply, feeling the weight of the situation.

"You don't know where to seek allies? I know." The woman says proudly.

"And where would that be?" Azazel asks doubtfully.

"In the Wild Lands. There are many nomadic barbarian tribes there. You should try your luck with them."

Lilith picks up the hems of her dress and walks out of the chamber, leaving her perplexed husband and another dead body behind her.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you a shocking surprise in the previous chapter, hope it worked :)

A guard on the wall-walk notices some riders in the distance, galloping towards the Sirnamor fortress in a whirlwind of dust.

As the riders get nearer, the guard sees their banner flapping in the breeze and his worries vanish: it's Lord Robert and his companions, returning from the Seven Falcons fortress.

The guard whistles, signaling to his friends to open the gates. The chains rattle as the gates open to welcome the riders, who have returned safely from the enemy of the throne's domain.

As soon as Robert's feet touch the ground, he hands the reins to a groom, asking him to take his tired horse to the stable. Despite the exhausting road Uldred's general asks for the king. Robert must see him immediately and inform him of everything that has happened at the Seven Falcons fortress during his visit.

As it turns out Uldred is not at the fortress. Knowing king well enough, Robert presumes that he's gone to check the borders of the kingdom, just to be sure that there is nothing threatening or any signs of riot or disobedience. Therefore, Robert is forced to wait until Uldred's return and goes to his chamber to rest for a while.

The king returns late at night, looking exhausted, soaking wet, but still in a good mood. On his way back from the eastern border he and his seventy warriors had gotten under a pouring rain, which soon after had turned into a small flood, rinsing the ground under their horses' hooves. It had taken them almost three hours to find a safe place to take shelter until the rain stopped and the earth swallowed those little brooks and puddles it had left on the surface. Only after that had they been able to continue their way back to the Sirnamor fortress, plodding through the sticky mud.

After seeing the queen and his son, without changing the wet clothes Uldred motions Robert to follow him.

The two men sit around a table with some papers on it. They are not urgent and can wait 'til the king signs them.

"So, tell me about your visit, Robert. I am all ears," Uldred chuckles, rubbing his numb hands together.

"Everything went even better than we had hoped, my king," Robert begins. "Had we not known that they were planning treason, I would think that I was visiting an old friend of mine who was very happy to see me."

"Oh, is that so?" Uldred can't help but wonder.

"Yes, Azazel and Lilith showed us unexpected hospitality. I was doubtful at first, thinking that food or drink could have been poisoned, but my suspicions proved wrong. After the feast Azazel took me to his garden and while we were having a conversation, a messenger came. I did not hear what they were talking about but I am certain the messenger brought him tidings about the reinforcements sent to Veermonun. What makes me think so is that when Azazel came back to me, he did not look like a live man; his face was like that of a ghost, pale and drained of life." The king's general looks at Uldred, who is listening to him attentively.

"I see," Uldred nods. "I suppose it means he will refrain from attacking the Veermons. That is good. We shall wait and see. What happened next?"

"The next morning according to your order I gave the ring to Alastair," Robert responds.

"Did you tell them about the 'legend' of the ring?" Uldred chuckles.

"Yes, I made sure everyone in the courtyard heard the story. I don't think they will blame you for Alastair's death. They seemed quite concerned after I told them about the legend. Even Alastair seemed worried."

"Who knows, Robert, who knows. Let's say they did not believe the legend and thought it was I who killed Alastair. Did they send chasers after you? What happened after you left the Seven Falcons fortress?" Uldred rests his elbows on the table.

"That is what I find strange, my king," Robert frowns. "The ring should have killed him in an hour or two. We have not seen any signs of chasers."

"Indeed, that seems odd. Knowing Azazel and especially his wife Lilith, they always have extra, unpleasant tricks saved for later." Uldred stands up, pacing in the chamber slowly.

"What should we do, my king? Is there anything you want me to do?"

The king turns to his most faithful friend and man, placing a hand on his shoulder. "For the time being, nothing. We wait for their next move. I appreciate everything you have done, my friend. Go, and get some rest. You deserve it."

Robert bows and leaves the king alone with his deep thoughts.

* * *

For the next three days Uldred becomes estranged. He's avoiding everyone, including his wife, the baby prince, and Robert. The king seems restless, anxious, and tired, with dark circles under his eyes. Nolween shares her concerns with Robert and Bessabel, asking them to have a word with her husband and they both promise to talk to the king. But it does not seem to be that easy, as Uldred just locks himself in a small, dark room without windows and sends everyone away, stating that he is fine and just wants to be alone for a while.

It's long past midnight when Uldred sneaks out of his temporary hiding place, walks through the corridor, and into the terrace of the castle to take a look at the sleeping kingdom. The battlements of the fortress stretch like giants under the dark skies. Somewhere down below roosters crow, meeting and praising the approaching dawn. Besotting scents of flowers mingle with freshly baked bread, cut grass and a significant, pleasant smell of the river Othra brought in by a slight breeze.

Uldred's hands are shaking as bitter tears well up in his eyes. The whole kingdom beneath his feet is doomed. Only Gods know who his next enemy is, devastating and razing it to the ground because of his newborn son.

"Why? Why have you forsaken us? What has my son done to anger you?" the king whispers, wiping off the wetness from his face.

With one more shuddering breath, the king goes back into the castle, walking with silent steps like a ghost. He stops in front of Castiel's nursery. Two guards at the door salute him assiduously, standing still, and tense but relax when the king gestures them to ease.

"I want you to check what's happening in the yard. I heard some shouts. I will be here with my son, until you come back," the king tells the guards.

As they leave, Uldred opens the door, walking into the chamber. Under the dim light from lit torches, he sees a small bed, in which his son is sleeping. Castiel is twitching his little, chubby hands in his sleep, slightly kicking his tiny feet. A small bubble of spit swells on the baby's mouth as he coos in his dream.

Uldred is staring at his son absentmindedly; his eyes are looking at Castiel but not seeing him. The images of a burned, devastated kingdom run before eyes and he already smells spilled blood and decayed corpses of all the dead, scattered on the ground while wild beasts feast upon them.

"I cannot let this happen," Uldred chokes a sob. "I cannot forsake my kingdom. Forgive me, my son, I love you more than anything in this world but… but I cannot let this happen." Tears rain down from the king's eyes, as he takes one of the pillows from under his son's head, holding it above the baby's face.

"I am so sorry, Castiel," says the man who is about to kill his own son.

The pillow is getting dangerously nearer to the newborn prince's face but it never makes a contact, as something very heavy smashes over Uldred's head, sending the unconscious man to the floor.

Someone's trembling hands grab the baby prince, pulling him out of the small bed. Castiel wakes up startled and begins to shriek, but a hand closes over his mouth. The throne's newborn heir is quickly carried out of his nursery.

* * *

Robert has fallen asleep at his table amongst books and papers, when a desperate knocking at his chamber's door wakes him up.

The king's general wipes the remains of sleep out of his eyes, quickly reaching the door. As soon as he opens it, the man gasps in surprise.

"My queen? What happened?" He moves aside to let an anxious looking Nolween into the chamber. What makes things even stranger is that the queen is holding the crying prince in her arms.

"Robert, I need your help! Uldred has lost his mind. He tried to kill Castiel!" Nolween exclaims, trying to hush the distressed baby.

"What?" Robert staggers. "How? How did that happen?"

"Something woke me up. Maybe a motherly instinct. I went to check on my son and did not see the guards at the nursery. I assume Uldred sent them away." Nolween sits down on a chair, looking at the man, frightened.

Robert goes to the table, pouring water into a cup and gives it to the queen. Nolween drinks it greedily and after giving the cup back to the man, continues:

"When I entered the room, Uldred was standing with a pillow in his hand, ready to smother our son. He did not notice me and I grabbed a porcelain amphora standing in the corner, smashing it over his head." Nolween begins to tremble, wrapping her arms around the baby protectively.

Robert is speechless; he knew that something was happening to Uldred, but he would never have imagined that the king would attempt to kill his own son.

"I need your help, Robert," the woman stands up. "I must leave the fortress while it's still dark. I need armor and a cloak."

Robert swallows hard, sweat covering his forehead as his kind, grey eyes fill with worries. "My queen," he begins gently, but Nolween interrupts him.

"What's the matter, Robert? Are you afraid of helping me?" The queen frowns at the general.

Robert sighs, smiling bitterly. He takes the woman's palm into his hands, kissing it gently and respectfully. "I would gladly die for you and the baby prince right this instant, my queen."

It's so obvious from Robert's voice what the man is trying to say, that it's impossible not to guess and Nolween's lips part in surprise as the realization dawns on her.

"Robert," she whispers sadly, cupping the man's cheek. "How long?" She asks quietly.

"Since the day you arrived at the Sirnamor fortress," the man answers, hesitantly. "I will help and accompany you to your homeland. I suppose that's where you want to go, to your parents' fortress," Robert says and moves quickly aside, afraid that he has confessed too much.

"No," the queen objects. "I need you to stay here, beside Uldred and try to beat some sense into his head, if it's not too late. I have good enough skills to defend myself and my son if we meet any obstacles on the way. Besides, it will be lighter in a few hours, so you have nothing to worry about. No one has ever dared to attack the king's messengers."

Robert just listens to Nolween's speech, with his head and hands pressed to the stone wall, thinking of what might have come over the king and caused him to act so reckless.

As the skies turn grey an armored rider, wearing a helmet hiding their face and wrapped in a cloak with the kingdom's emblem on the back, leaves the fortress, claiming that he is Uldred's messenger sent to the Eastern borders of the kingdom.


	13. Chapter 13

Nolween does not stop riding 'till the massive walls of the fortress are far behind. The woman needs to be sure that she and her baby are safe. Speaking of the baby, Castiel is securely strapped to her back with soft ropes and is well hidden underneath the red cloak given to her by Robert. A silk handkerchief had been tied around the newborn prince's mouth to keep him quiet while escaping from the fortress and it's removed as soon as the fugitive queen is certain there are no chasers or any dangers nearby.

The road to the Iron Mountains is long and tiring. Nolween has to spend many hours on the dusty road before she reaches the forest that lies between Vali Isuria and her father's kingdom. There are many legends about the forest and the spirits inhabiting it, which are rumored to dislike humans. But as Nolween has no other choice left; she has to go through the woods to get home, where she can be safe and take care of her son.

The queen reaches the forest late in the evening, when the shadows start to fall and darkness creeps upon them. Her horse neighs in fright as the woman stares warily at the hundred-year-old trees. Their branches look like the crooked, clawed fingers of beasts stretching towards their prey and Nolween shudders unwillingly.

"It's alright darling, don't be afraid." She pets the horse, trying to calm it down. Castiel is unstrapped from her back and the queen is holding him against her chest. The baby is surprisingly quiet, not making any sounds of discomfort. He has eaten twice and slept most of the time, making his mother very happy. To stress the child is the last thing Nolween needs right now.

The queen decides to dismount her horse as it's risky to enter the forest with one hand holding the baby and the other grasping the reins. She wraps her arms tighter around her son and tugs at the reins. With hesitant steps the horse obeys and they enter the forest. As soon as they walk in, they find themselves in total darkness. The woman cannot see anything at all and she feels chills run down her spine.

Distant sounds of owls hooting, bushes rustling, and squirrels and mice chittering in the trees are terrifying, and the queen swallows hard. How she wishes there was someone beside her, someone who could protect her and the baby prince. But alas!

"I am Queen Nolween, spouse of King Uldred. This is my son Castiel. I want to go to my home fortress but unfortunately I will not be able to do so till morning. Please don't hurt us. We have not come with ill intentions. I beg your protection for me and my son." Nolween speaks pleadingly, looking around, trying to see something, anything at all. "Please protect us tonight."

All the sounds and noises stop abruptly and dead silence falls. Even Nolween's horse stops its frightened nickering. Nothing happens for a while, but then suddenly, out of nowhere a small group of bright, shimmering, moving dots appears, advancing toward the newcomers.

The woman wants to back off in fear but when the strange bright things get closer, she realizes that they are simply fireflies.

"Oh," the woman whispers and reaches her hand towards them. A few fireflies land on her palm and the queen smiles at them. The insects radiate blue light, not like ordinary fireflies. After a minute those which landed on the queen's hand fly off.

The fireflies dance and move in front of Nolween, as if trying to tell her something and the woman understands that they want her to follow them.

With slow, cautious steps she follows their lead, until she finds herself standing in front of a tremendous oak tree whose branches reach the ground. The whole tree is covered in blue fireflies, twinkling like stars, and the view is so stunning that the queen can't help when an awed gasp leaves her mouth.

She ties the horse to a tree branch and settles down on thick, soft moss before the oak. Castiel wakes up and makes some small whimpering sounds, a sign that he wants to eat again.

"Give me a moment, my precious." Nolween lays him down on moss and gets rid of her cloak, leather armor, and sword. She unbuttons the satin shirt she's wearing, revealing her round breasts, heavy and swollen with milk.

"There you go." Nolween smiles down at her son as Castiel begins to suck greedily on his mother's rich milk. "My poor child." The queen kisses his forehead, gently stroking his hair.

She begins to hum, starting with hushed notes but getting louder with each second, and in the end Nolween sings a lullaby to her son aloud in the enchanted forest.

The oak tree underneath which the queen and her baby son sit slowly and gingerly moves its branches, wrapping around them and forming a protective circle.

And thus Nolween, the queen of Vali Isuria, sings the lullaby to the newborn prince under the illuminated tree, protected by the spirits of the forest.

* * *

The queen wakes up at sunrise, feeling refreshed and relaxed. She thanks the forest for the provided protection and leaves for the Iron Mountains.

To say that her parents had been surprised would be an understatement. After hearing the whole story Orga, Nolween's father, had been so angry that despite his age he wanted to go to Vali Isuria and strangle his son-in-law for such a horrible attempt. It took a few hours to calm down the enraged man.

As expected Nolween had found shelter under the roof of her parents' castle and she was finally able to breathe with relief.

* * *

Almost an hour passes before Uldred comes to his senses. He groans and stands up with a thudding pain in his head. A small trickle of blood reminds him that someone had attacked him from behind, smashing something heavy over his head. As a proof, he sees jagged fragments of an amphora on the floor.

"What happened to me? Who attacked me?" Uldred rasps as if in trance. He keeps mumbling in confusion, trying hard to recall the recent events, like what he was doing in his son's chamber in the first place.

When things get cleared up a little, he shouts aloud, bewildered. "What have I done to my child?"  
"Oh Gods! What made me lose my mind to even think about murdering my own child?" The man casts his eyes over the room nervously.  
Uldred looks down at Castiel's bed and gasps when there is no trace of his son in his small bed. The bed sheets and the blanket are all crumpled. The king begins to rummage through the room in hope of finding the throne's heir, but his son is nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe Nolween took him to our bed and he's with his mother?" Uldred grasps at the last straw, running to the door.

The guards at the door have already returned to their posts and they cast a worried look at the king, how anxious he looks.

"Have you seen the queen or the prince?" Uldred shouts desperately.

The guards shake their heads. "No, my king. We have not seen anyone after our return." But Uldred is not listening to them, already running towards his and the queen's chamber.

"Nolween!" the man shouts so loudly that everyone in the castle can hear it.

Uldred flings the door of the chamber open, rushing in. "Nolween are you here?" The king runs towards the bed and pulls the covers off, trying in vain to find his wife and son. His voice breaks and trembles, a few broken sobs escape from his throat. "No, no, no! How could I have been so stupid? What was I thinking?" The king turns around, desperation and agonizing pain of a dying beast reflect in his tear-filled eyes.

"Nolween! Castiel!" Uldred screams, falling down on his knees.

"They are not here, Uldred," a gentle voice says, startling the distressed man. It's lord Robert, looking sorrowfully at his friend.

"Where are they? Robert, tell me, where are my wife and son?" The king jumps to his feet. "I need to find them!"

"For what? To kill your own son?" Robert asks strictly. "What happened to you? Why would you think of taking your own son's life?"

Uldred's shoulders slump and he feels like a mountain has fallen upon him. "You do not understand," he rasps. "You don't know about the real prophecy. Bessabel said that Castiel would be the reason of the kingdom's fall. He said -"

"And you decided to kill the poor child?" Robert frowns. He does not like the prophecy either but he can't approve such drastic measures.

"I regret my decision. I could not think of anything else. I simply can't forsake my kingdom and people. I don't want them to suffer and die." Uldred stares at his general miserably.

"Why did you not tell me about this before?" Robert sighs. He can understand how hard it is to be a king, what burden must Uldred carry, and he does not envy him a bit.

"I don't know. I did not tell anyone. I just couldn't." The king swallows hard a lump in his throat. "I don't know what to do, Robert. What should I do? I am confused!"

"First of all you need to calm down. We can think of something else which will not include Castiel's murder." The general approaches Uldred, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We will find a way."

The king nods, staring at the floor, unable to meet Robert's gaze. He feels horrible and there is nothing that can comfort him.

"Where are Nowleen and my son?" the man asks with a raspy, broken voice.

"The queen took the prince to the Iron Mountains."

"So she knows that I tried to kill Castiel?" Uldred whispers.

"Yes," Robert responds reluctantly. "It was I who helped her escape."

The king stares at his general incredulously but chooses to restrain himself from lashing out at Robert.

"I need to get my wife and son back. I am leaving for the Iron Mountains." Uldred wants to move towards the door, when Robert's hand stops him.

"I will come with you."

"No!" the king says firmly. I need to do it myself. All alone."

Robert nods knowingly. "May the Gods help you in your venture. And one more thing. Don't go now. Give her some time, a day or two to calm down."

* * *

Nolween is playing with her son, tickling his belly and laughing gently when Castiel squeals and kicks his tiny feet, gargling something happily.

There is a knock on the door and after her reply a guard comes in, bowing respectfully.

"I thought you would want to know that King Uldred is at the gates, but we cannot open them according to your father's order."

Nolween flinches at hearing her husband's name. There are conflicting emotions fighting in her soul but she decides to approve her father's order.

"Good. Do as your king commanded you. Do not let him in."

"Yes, Queen Nolween." The guard bows and leaves the chamber.

The woman takes her son's hands, gently kissing the baby's palms. "You do not need a father who wants you dead."

Over the next few days the weather and nature go wild, sending heavy rains and howling wind down. With a heavy heart Nolween can see that her stubborn husband has not moved from the gates, getting soaking wet and sitting in the mud.

"Father," she turns to Orga. "Let him in. Let's listen to what he wants to say. Even our enemies could get shelter under our roof in such awful weather."

"She is right, Orga," Nolween's mother, Queen Fedrina tells her husband. "Let him in."

The starved horse is taken to the stable as the guards lead a soaking wet and shivering Uldred into the castle. He does not pay much attention to the angry, disapproving look on his father-in-law's face. He just wants to see his wife and the baby!

"Nolween!" Uldred exclaims when his beautiful wife stares at him with pain and sorrow in her blue eyes.

"Why are you here, Uldred? What do you want?" Orga asks strictly.

"I came to take my wife and son back to our fortress, where we all belong," the king of Vali Isuria says firmly.

"To the fortress where you tried to kill your son?" Orga's voice booms in the walls of the castle.

"Gods know how much I regret my stupid decision. I wish I could turn time back and never have done it. I don't know what to tell you so you will believe me." Uldred makes a step forward towards his wife.

"Why did you do it, Uldred? Why? What did Castiel do to anger you so much? He is just a newborn baby." Nolween's voice is thick with emotion.

"I feared for our kingdom's and people's fate. Bessabel forecast ill future for our boy. The real prophecy said that he would bring misfortune to the kingdom." Uldred falls silent. "I did not know what to do and acted foolish."

"What were his exact words? What did he say about my boy?" Nolween turns pale.

"He said, 'Shame and tears are what the young heir will bring to the kingdom, throwing it to the beast for laceration,'" Uldred responds sorrowfully.

No one says a word for a while. Uldred uses the momentum to kneel before his wife, staring at her pleadingly. "Nolween, forgive me. Words cannot describe how much I regret my horrendous deed. Please come back with me to Vali Isuria. Robert assured me that we can find a way to save the kingdom. I promise, I swear to you upon my ancestors' souls that I will not harm either our son or you in any way. Just… come back with me, please!" The king wraps his arms around his wife's legs, weeping bitterly.

A gentle touch on his head makes the man raise his head. Nolween is smiling at him bitterly, with tears shining in her aquamarine eyes.

"Get up, Uldred," she says gently.

The king stands up on shaking legs, looking at his wife with a faint hope in his eyes. "You… will you…"

"Yes," the woman cuts him off. "We will return to Sirnamor Fortress with you."

Uldred feels like choking and screaming from joy at the same time. Overwhelmed with downpour of the feelings he just hugs Nolween, almost crushing her fragile frame in his arms.

"Thank you! Thank you, my love!" he whispers frantically, afraid of letting go of his tight grip around the queen's waist.

Uldred buries his face in his wife's shoulder, inhaling the woman's sweet scent deeply.

Let the obstacles come, he is not afraid. Not when he has his wife and son back at his side.

**End of part II**


	14. Chapter 14

**Part III – The Song of Broken Shields**

John Winchester or John the Slayer as his warriors called him, was seventeen years old when he became the chieftain of his own tribe, a small group of people, which roamed around the Wild Lands in search of food and shelter.

John and his thirty fellow warriors had stumbled upon a group of starving, bloody, and exhausted people, lying under burning heat of the ruthless sun and waiting for impending death. The stench of decaying corpses had been unbearable and it had not added any positivity to the pitiful sight which the young chieftain and his warriors had walked into.

Despite the fact that half of these people had been dead from hunger or fights with wild beasts, there still were strong men amongst them, armed with wooden cudgels, crossbows and short knives. Though exhausted, they still wanted to fight against the newcomers and defend the women and children that accompanied them.

John had assured them that he had not come with ill intentions, that he did not want to kill or harm them in any way, that he simply wanted strong warriors and women who would give birth to their children to strengthen the tribe, and eventually inhabit the nearest town they would find and conquer. Also, he'd promised them to give food and water if they agreed to his terms and accepted him as their chieftain.

The exhausted group of people who belonged to a small tribe of Mithanns had gladly accepted his proposal, attacking the food with so much vigor that John and his group of warriors had to back off their horses, gazing at the starved men, women, and children in slight bewilderment as they acted like a horde of hungry beasts fighting over old bones.

After satisfying their hunger and John's order to bury all the dead under piles of rocks, the group which then consisted of the young chieftain, his thirty horsemen, and forty-two Mithanns, had followed the dusty road on the cleft and dried ground in Wild Lands.

Month after month, year after year John the Slayer had strengthened and enlarged his nomadic tribe by meeting new, various small groups of people scattered around the immense territory of the Wild Lands, until his army grew and consisted of two thousand and fifty-two well armed warriors, plus their wives and children. He himself married a beautiful, lively maiden of an Aderaghar tribe.

The joint name of the nomadic tribe led by John Winchester had become Battle Shadows and it was the tribe that terrified the bordering towns nearby. The main target of the young chieftain had become a small town located at the border of Wild Lands and Vali Isuria, called Hallowfield. But there still was a huge territory to cross and it would take him many months, if not years before he would reach the final destination. And only gods knew what would await him during this time, what obstacles and surprises fate would throw in his way.

* * *

**Wild Lands, near the border of Hallowfield**

John the Slayer is sitting in his tent, listening attentively to a man whom his warriors have brought to him. The man and his accompanying twelve horsemen had been riding on their way to the Wild Lands for thirteen days and nights. Despite the desert wind, poisonous snakes and scorpions, they all have managed to get to John's place safely.

"Only hearing your name brings deadly fright to people. Mothers scare their stubborn children mentioning your name, saying that you will appear out of nowhere and devour them alive if they misbehave again," says the man sitting in front of the Battle Shadows' chieftain.

"That sounds very flattering." John lets out a huff. "But let's talk about the real business. What is it that you want from me? You would not spend so many days on the dangerous road just to come and say hello."

"Your warriors are very skillful with the undefeated chieftain leading them. With such force you could easily crush and devastate every kingdom if you had such wish. You would be able to have vast, rich lands at your disposal and live in luxury, not like this godforsaken barren land, which has nothing to offer." The man falls silent, contemplating the chieftain's face.

John is not a fool and he understands that his guest has something on his mind, that he is not speaking the whole thing.

"After hearing your words I realized that you want me to read between the lines. You my foreign guest have come to me with a plan already made and wish to see if I want to be a part of it. Do you think I'm a fool?" John's hand pats the head of a tamed black panther, as the beast senses the displeasure in its master's voice and starts to growl.

The guest raises his hands, avowing his defeat.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to insult you. It's just that cautiousness has never harmed anyone."

"That is true. Now, without any tricks and keeping back, speak." Despite John's age, his voice is very confident and the visitor has no doubts whether or not he should respect the young chieftain of the nomadic tribe.

"Very well. A few months ago the king of Vali Isuria killed my only son by poisoning him. I've been trying to find allies but it is not easy as everyone around is his ally. This is why I have come to you, to ask for your help. I want to avenge my son's death by killing Uldred's son. If you help me, I will give whatever you ask for. What do you want? Gold? Cattle? Various weapons? Name anything and I will give them to you!" The man's shaking voice quiets down.

"Azazel," John begins after a short silence. "Do you realize what you're asking for? You want me to attack the king and kill his child just for your avenging purpose?"

Azazel shifts in his seat, looking utterly nervous. John is his last hope and he does not know what he will do if the barbarian refuses to help him.

"I understand it sounds reckless but you have many furious warriors and they fear nothing. I have my own army of experienced men and together we can defeat the king if we attack unexpectedly."

John's frown deepens. He weighs the words of his visitor carefully.

"Let's say I agree. What will it bring me, my family or my people?"

Azazel leans forward. "If you help me defeat the king and kill his son, you can have half of the kingdom, which we will divide between us."

The fallen silence in the tent is deafening. The two men stare at each other, without uttering a word. The annoying noise of crickets, which have begun their song under the dim light of the desert moon, cuts through the thick curtain of tensed silence reigning in the walls of the chieftain's tent.

"Half of the kingdom you say?" John's voice is hoarse as he breaks the silence.

Azazel nods frantically, grasping at the straws of hope. "Yes. Half of the kingdom. You can live as you wish. You can settle down with your family and people and will not have to roam ever again. What will your words be?"

John rubs his forehead. Azazel's words sound very tempting. They all deserve a safe roof above their heads, to find a permanent place where they can live happily and carefree, have cattle and land to plow and sow crops.

"I agree." The chieftain finally gives his agreement. "But you will not come ask for any more help. I will help you defeat the king and kill his son and after that we will divide Vali Isuria between us. I don't need the king's fortress, you can keep it to yourself, but as to my living place I will choose it myself. Any objections?"

Azazel can't believe his luck. This is going much better than expected.

"Not at all. No objections. I accept every word you say."

"Good. I'm glad about that. The deal is done then." John the Slayer reaches his hand out to the owner of the Seven Falcon fortress.

As the two men shake their hands, the curtains of the tent part and a little boy approximately five years old, runs in. He stops in his tracks after seeing the stranger.

"Dean? What are you doing here? Why are you not sleeping?" John notices the boy.

"I was not sleepy and I was shooting from my crossbow," says the boy. He has blond hair and eyes green like glittering emeralds.

"Come here," John motions the boy. "This is my older son Dean," he tells Azazel after picking up his son.

"It's pleasure to meet you, young man. My name is Azazel," the visitor smiles slightly, reaching his hand to the chieftain's son.

Dean's face lights up and he shakes the man's hand energetically with a huge smile on his face. "Nice to meet you, Lord Azazel."

"Oh, he is very strong. He will be a great warrior, I can tell!" The man exclaims, surprised at the strength of the child's grip on his hand.

"He is my pride and heir. The future chieftain of Battle Shadows." John says proudly, putting his son on the ground. "Now go, Dean. I will see you in the morning."

The boy throws one last look at his father and the guest before disappearing behind the thick curtains of the tent.

"Remember him well, Azazel. If something ever happens to me and gods decide that I've lived long enough, he is the man one should find and talk to."

According to the plan John and Azazel come up with that night, the chieftain of Battle Shadows will attack and raid Hallowfield on the next full moon, where they will meet and join the army of the Seven Falcons fortress owner and then head towards Uldred's fortress.


	15. Chapter 15

Crimson skies stretch above the sleepy desert. Blackness in the shapes of storm clouds steadily seep in and mingle with the redness, devouring the pale moon which looks like a drowning beast in the dark abyss.

Time in this desert flows differently. It's like minutes stretch into eternity and freeze like the dead, cold eyes of the giants fallen on the battleground. The night breeze that blows brings the distant scent of upcoming storms and the impending battle that is to be had the next night.

The camp of Battle Shadows is sunk into intimidating silence; women and children are asleep while their fathers, brothers, husbands, or sons are sitting at fading bonfires, sharpening their weapons and making them ready for the massacre. These are the only sounds that break the quiet of the night.

John the Slayer walks out of his tent. Dark circles under his eyes and a few deep wrinkles on his forehead are clear signs of his tiredness and sleepless nights. The time has come for him to take his army and attack Hallowfield, where he will join his forces with Azazel's troops. But he still has one night to spend with his family, with his wife and little boys. John's wife had expressed the wish to go with her husband and fight beside him but the chieftain of Battle Shadows insisted that she stayed here and waited for his message after which she would go and join John.

John walks among his warriors looking for his assistants. There is something important he has to discuss with them.

"There you are," he stops in front one of the tents where his seconds-in-command are standing and talking in hushed tones.

"How can we help you, Chieftain?" asks the younger man, whose name is Beqa.

"I need to talk to you. Both of you. In my tent." John informs them and turns around, not waiting for the answer. It's not like they would refuse, anyway.

The two men follow their Chieftain into his tent, earning curious looks from the fellow warriors. If their leader has a meeting with both of his seconds-in-command, it means something important is to be discussed.

"I've been thinking and decided to leave five hundred men here. They will not march with us," John says as soon as they enter his tent.

"What is the reason for it?" Sarrehdan, the older second-in-command asks.

"If we leave our wives and children all alone and something unexpected happens, who will be there to protect them?" John sits down and gestures for his warriors to do the same. "What do you think? Share your thoughts with me."

"I think it's a good decision, Chieftain," Beqa begins. "They will definitely need protection if something happens."

"While I think it's a good decision, do you think our forces will be enough?" Sarrehdan asks doubtfully.

"Enough?" John laughs. "Hallowfield is a small town. I doubt they will give us a good fight, if at all. I could defeat them with only a few men."

"That is true," Sarrehdan nods. "You have the best warriors I've ever seen."

"That's why we train our children from their youth to become invincible in battles." John rubs his forehead.

"So, I will need five hundred volunteers by tomorrow to stay here and protect our families."

"All will be done, Chieftain," the two men assure the leader of Battle Shadows.

After John's command they walk out of the tent, leaving their leader alone with his thoughts. Soon a clap of thunder shakes the earth and a pouring rain begins, bouncing noisily off of the tent's thick roof.

* * *

The next night, before leading his army of one thousand and fifty-two men towards Hallowfield, John gathers everyone for a brief meeting.

"I am taking these brave men into the battle so we may have a bright future. I wish we all could go together but the gods have other plans, apparently. You must wait for our messengers, who will bring tidings to you when you can join us. As to you, my brave men who are staying here, I want to tell you that your mission is not any less important. Your task to protect our women and children could be even more important than ours, as they are the ones we are fighting for; we want them to have a permanent roof above their heads. Defend them and may the gods protect you against all evil!"

John's speech is met with a deafening roar and clash of swords against shields. Warriors in his army certainly know what their mission is and will do everything to honor the sacred oath of protecting their families.

"Father, I want to come with you," a little boy's voice whines and John looks down to see his older son clutching at his sword.

The chieftain of Battle Shadows laughs heartily, grabbing and picking Dean up. He ruffles the boy's dirty blond hair fondly.

"You will, Dean. But not today. You see all these men? In a few years you will be commanding and leading them into battles instead of me. Take a good look at them."

Dean looks at his father's warriors. His little heart beats wildly in excitement and the chieftain's son tries hard not to squeal from joy. But after his father's following words, the boy can't help but shout from sheer happiness.

"My warriors, this is your future leader. I don't need to tell you, as you already know this but you will protect him at any cost, as he is my replacement. And now, I want you to greet my son, like your next Chieftain!" John lifts his son up in the air so everyone can see him well.

"Dean! Dean! Dean!" the crowd roars, the clashing of weapons is horrifying and it scares infants in their mothers' arms.

Under the encouraging shouts from the warriors and screams of the babies, John kisses his son on the forehead before putting him on ground.  
"Look after yourself and our boys." John turns to his wife Aldina, who's holding their one-year-old son Samuel.

"Do not worry about us. You should be worried about yourself and the warriors you're taking with you," she tells him and sighs when her husband embraces her tightly.

"We will be fine. Gods will protect us," John assures her. "Come here, little man." He takes Samuel out of his wife's hands, pressing the baby to his chest.

"Will you take care of your mother while I'm gone?" he asks the baby and chuckles when his son gurgles something happily. "Oh, of course I know that you can protect her. I never doubted your skills," John jokes and caresses his son's head with his calloused hand. He quickly kisses his wife and turns to his warriors.

"Time to go!"

* * *

As the distance between the Wild Lands and the border town Hallowfield shortens, the cleft and dried ground of the desert turns into muddy, soft soil.

Battle Shadows led by John the Slayer moves determinedly, almost silently through the night towards their target. Even their horses are quiet, as if they know how important it is not to make a sound.

The town is probably deep in slumber, not expecting the upcoming bloody carnage which awaits them.

They reach the field which stretches between them and the wooden gates of Hallowfield. It's a dark, moonless night and it gives John and his army a big advantage, as they are well disguised by night, making it difficult for guards on the wall-walks to notice them marching towards the town.

Little by little as they get near to the gates, John's doubts grow, sending disturbing alarm to his mind.

"I don't like this," he turns to Sarrehdan. "It's eerily quiet and I have not noticed any guards yet."

"Same here. I have not seen any guards on wall-walks. It's like they've never been standing there." Sarrehdan shrugs, contemplating the walls of the town.

According to John's command twenty men with grappling hooks separate from the army and approach the gates. While they're busy throwing the hooks over the walls, archers scan the gates, ready to draw their bows if the guards appear to prevent the climbers from their doing.

Surprisingly no one shows up to hold a fight against them and the climbers already at the other side of the wall open the gates for the rest of the Battle Shadows' warriors.

John and his army enter the narrow street of Hallowfield, looking around in dismay. There's no one around, neither the locals nor Azazel's troops. What's strange is that there is no sign of a living soul around. Not a squeak. It's like they've entered a ghost town.

"What in the gods' names is this?" John hisses. "Where are all these people and more importantly where in Underworld is Azazel and his army?"  
They move forward for a few more feet when the wooden gates close behind them with a loud, creaking noise.

Suddenly there are armored men appearing from the ground on either sides of the street, jumping out of the holes covered with branches and leaves, attacking them from every direction.

"It's a trap!" John yells at his warriors in the ensuing chaos. The horses neigh and rear, making it even more difficult to move and fight against the advancing enemy.

The leader of Battle Shadows hacks a few heads off when hissing sounds get his attention and he raises his head to see what the fate's next unpleasant gift is.

"Make a shield wall!" John's voice booms, overpowering every noise as the rain of fiery arrows cascade down on them.


	16. Chapter 16

John's command overpowers every noise sounding in the mass chaos: neighing horses, clashing weapons and the hissing rain of fiery arrows. It's mighty, as if the god of war has fallen in uncontrollable anger, roaring in wrath. 

They've walked right into a trap there's no escaping from: they are attacked by foes from every corner. In the narrow street of the town it's hard to move and the riders have a lot of trouble controlling and handling their horses.   
  
The only way they have is to break through the attacking force of Hallowfield's men and spread out on the main square of the town, standing their ground.  
  
Knowing that every second is precious and despite their losing positions John orders his army forward, towards the massive iron column with a winged creature's sculpture on it.   
  
Crouched behind their shields, stomping through the puddles of blood Battle Shadows move forward, hacking left and right to clear the pass. They've already lost hundreds of men due to the trap and Azazel's failure. And it's still a good question as to where in the underworld he's gone. Could it be that the ground opened up and swallowed him and his entire army, which had to come to Hallowfield to John's aid?  
  
As John the Slayer leads his army to the destination place, spilling blood for each foot advanced, from the other end of the street thirty riders appear and block their only passage. The group is led by a man in silver armor, holding a double-bladed axe.   
  
This sudden appearance causes ceasing of all movements from both sides. In his moment of confusion John lowers his hand, which is ready to send another foe into the claws of death and gazes at the newcomers. There are more warriors behind the riders' backs, which does not promise anything good to Battle Shadows and their leader.   
  
"I suppose you are wondering where your aid is. Why, he is not here," the rider begins, opening the visor of his helmet.   
  
"Who are you?" John asks briefly, looking at the man and thinking of his next move.  
  
"I'm Rufus, the head of Hallowfield and these are my men."  
  
"Where's Azazel?" the chieftain of Battle Shadows asks grimly.   
  
Rufus grins. "Oh, so the tidings have not reached you? Let me enlighten you then." His smirk grows wider when a shadow of doubt and worry crosses over John's face.   
  
"You see, a little birdie from Azazel's troop informed me of his plans that he and your joined forces would try to raze our town to the ground before marching towards the king's fortress. I, as a loyal servant of my king and kingdom, informed Uldred of upcoming battle and last night his army led by lord Robert, met Azazel's army at the gorge of the Ancient Ones. They were slaughtered and annihilated by the king's army. As I know only Azazel and handful of his men managed to escape."  
  
Rufus' words stir loud rumblings and disturbed whispers in John's army. Apparently, the gods are not on their side in this battle.   
  
"It's strange that you have not heard of the massacre, as such tidings spread fast. But I'm not complaining, it's good that you came." Rufus leans forward. "This town has one rule, which we never break."  
  
"What rule?" John is getting impatient. His horse feels it and begins neighing anxiously.   
  
"We don't spare the lives of our enemies." Rufus' words ring like a verdict. Then he turns to his men, standing behind his back.  
  
"KILL THEM ALL!"  
  
Rufus raises his axe and roars. He encourages his army to slaughter their enemies, sacrifice them to their gods.  
  
The warriors behind Rufus' back, which are armed with round shields, sharp javelins, and swords move forward with a loud roar to terrify their enemy.   
  
Seeing that they are doomed and nothing can be done except fighting, John gathers all of his strength and self-composure.  
  
"If the gods decide to end our days on this battleground, let it be so! Let's meet our deaths with swords in our hands and loud laughter, while we bathe in the blood of our enemies! For the future of our children and wives! Battle Shadows, charge!"  
  
Rufus' maddened warriors charge at John's men with loud, ecstatic yells. Like a flow of avalanche rumbling down a sleepy mountain, Hallowfield's army advances and smashes into the front rows of the intruders.   
  
The collision is fast and hard. The warriors of Battle Shadows, attacked from four directions, fight like a wounded lion surrounded by a horde of hungry hyenas. The crashing of shields sounds like thunder cracking above the warriors' heads. The swords ring, their shields shatter into pieces, dying men choking on their blood groan and scream out their curses while departing to the other world, damning their enemies for eternity.   
  
As time passes Battle Shadows manage to break through the advancing force of their foes, rushing towards the main square, where they can finally have enough space to fight without obstacles, where they can show Rufus and his army what they are capable of.

* * *

In the three-hour chaos of frightened, wounded and neighing horses, axes cutting though bodies, flesh and bones, swords slicing and mutilating men, javelins smashing into shields, skulls or bones, Sarrehdan drives his reddened sword into his rival's stomach, where the thin armor had not been covering the man's flesh. John's second-in-command kicks the man in stomach, throwing his body away and looks around.   
  
Outnumbered, shattered and broken, Battle Shadows are doomed. Approximately pne hundred warriors are still alive and fighting but it will not take a long time 'til the death claims their souls. Suddenly Sarrehdan feels fuming rage; this is not the future he wanted, this is not how he'd planned to end his days.   
  
Wiping the blood off of his face, he tries to find their chieftain. After a short while he notices John fighting against four warriors. The chieftain of Battle Shadows is covered in wounds and cuts but he pays no attention to them and does not stop for even a second, striking and blocking the blows of his rivals, moving with a speed of lightning. By the time Sarrehdan reaches him, all the rivals are dead and lying on the ground.   
  
John notices his second-in-command and heaves a sigh of relief, seeing that he's alive.  
  
"I'm glad you're alive. Where's Beqa? We need to…"   
  
John's speech is abruptly cut off when sharp steel plunges into his stomach, cutting through tissue and muscles. The chieftain of Battle Shadows throws an amazed, questioning look at his second-in-command and manages to grab Sarrehdan's throat before kneeling on the ground.   
  
"You do not deserve to be the chieftain of our men. You led us into this deadly trap. This is not how I want to end my days," Sarrehdan spits venomously. He grabs John's hand, removing it from his throat. "I shall become the next chieftain, for I am worthier than a fool like you!"  
  
All questions of Sarrehdan's motives are forgotten after his confession.   
  
"You cannot. My son is… my replacement…" John wheezes and coughs, as blood pours out of his mouth.   
  
"Your son?" Sarrehdan smirks deviously. "We shall see about that!"   
  
"No! Don't you dare! Don't you dare hurt him!" John wants to sit up but Sarrehdan's foot holds him in place.   
  
"You think some little shit like your five year old son will prevent me from becoming the next leader? I've waited for so long to become a chieftain and I'll be damned if I don't use my opportunity. Goodbye, John. Be prepared to be eaten by stray dogs, though I doubt you will live that long."   
  
Sarrehdan turns around and looks at the gates. One way or the other, the pass is clear and he could try escaping, plus he can see horses wandering around.  
  
Sarrehdan walks away quickly, not paying attention to John's desperate shouts. He heads towards the gates, using the darkness as his coverage and tries not to draw too much attention.

* * *

John's vision is fading, sounds and objects becoming muffled and blurry. He's lost too much blood and it's a matter of minutes 'til he takes his last breath. He's sinking into darkness when someone kneels beside him, shaking him gently by the shoulder. 

"Chieftain!"   
  
It's Beqa's voice.  
  
"Chieftain, please stay strong, I will get you out of here!" The young man's voice is full of concern. He check's John's wound and wants to rip his cloak, when John's hand stops him.   
  
"No," the leader of Battle Shadows grabs the young man's hand. "Listen to me. You need to get out of here. Take as many men as you can and… and escape. We have a traitor in Battle Shadows." John starts wheezing, counting his last breaths.  
  
"A traitor? Who is it?" Beqa swallows nervously.   
  
"It's Sarrehdan. It's him who killed me." After his second-in-command gasps in shock, John continues. "He wants to kill my son, so he can become the next chieftain. Go, Beqa. You must protect my boy and my family." John unclenches his fist and Beqa sees a chain with a pendant Sarrehdan used to wear.   
  
"I swear to you and the Gods, Chieftain, that I will do everything to protect your family, even if it costs me my own life," the young warrior says, his voice breaking treacherously.   
  
"Thank you. May the Gods bless you, my boy." John smiles and squeezes Beqa's hand.   
  
After realizing that his chieftain has departed to the otherworld, John's second-in-command stands up, drawing out his sword from the ground.   
  
As promised to his murdered leader he must try and gather as many men as possible and return to Wild Lands before Sarrehdan, that traitorous son of a bitch does something horrible and irremediable.


	17. Chapter 17

There is a rider on a dusty road galloping his horse like a demon on the wings of the wind. Small rocks and sand crumble under his sweaty, bay colored stallion's hooves. It's obvious that the man has not stopped to take even a short break, so he and his horse could rest a little. His grim face is as grey as the skies above, deep thoughtfulness written all over it. Dangerous, devious thoughts roam in his head, making a plan of his next move when he gets to his destination. The bloodstains on his armor tell that the man has been in a battle recently and is lucky enough as he's made it out alive.

But the battle is far behind and more important things lie ahead as the distance shortens and the horse brings Sarrehdan, for it is him, nearer to the Wild Lands.

* * *

John the Slayer's second-in-command reaches the Wild Lands at dusk, when shadows begin to fall, bringing darkness and mystery. The whole camp of five hundred warriors, women, and elders stare at Sarrehdan, whose sudden appearance throws them into a silent shock. For a minute no one dares to ask what has happened to their chieftain of the rest of the army. Then the oldest man makes a few shaky steps towards the man on the horse, but before he opens his mouth to ask the tormenting question, John's second-in-command speaks up:

"We walked into a trap. Azazel never came to our aid, as he'd been attacked by the king's army on their way to Hallowfield. We were outnumbered and ambushed. Our chieftain and a lot of warriors died bravely on the battleground." Sarrehdan's wheezing voice causes chills as he dismounts the horse.

"If they all died there, why are you here? Are there no more survivors? Where is Beqa?" the old man, Darius, asks. His thin face is as wrinkled as a dried lamb skin left under scorching sun for numerous days.

"Beqa, he ran away, like a coward, leaving us to face the enemy. As to me, John asked me to return to you and become the chieftain of Battle Shadows." Sarrehdan throws a glaring glance at his audience, trying to see if anyone dares to object.

"But you cannot!" Darius steps forward. "Dean is his substitute! He is our next leader!"

"And how will the five year old child lead you into battles? How will he deal with your everyday problems?" Sarrehdan growls. "He is too young for this burden. Until he becomes of suitable age, I will be your next chieftain! If anyone has any objections, step forward!" the man snarls menacingly, unsheathing his sword.

The warriors look at each other, whispering in hushed voices. A small rumble goes through the crowd but no one dares to go against one of the strongest and most respected men in Battle Shadows.

"Good," says Sarrehdan, satisfied with the reaction. "Return to your tasks. We will have a ceremony of Crossing the Boundaries at sunrise to show our respect to all the fallen warriors."

As the crowd breaks up, still whispering and muttering between themselves, John's wife steps forward, glancing at Sarrehdan with a stony gaze. Despite the horrible tidings the man has brought to her, she seems clam and composed.

"I do not believe your words," she says with an icy cold tone, which sends chills down Sarrehdan's spine. "They sound suspicious and untruthful. Beqa would never do that. He would gladly die for John or any other warrior like an honorable man he was. Maybe it was you, Sarrehdan who ran away from the battle, leaving all your brothers behind?"

John's second-in-command turns pale at hearing the woman's sharp words but forces himself to laugh.

"What are you talking about, Aldina? I would never do that! But I understand, you are too distraught after hearing your husband's death and we all grieve together with you. That must be the reason for your unwise words."

The woman shakes her head, pointing her finger at the man accusingly.

"This is not the first time you have acted suspiciously, Sarrehdan. There have been many times when I doubted what your real intentions were. I will ask the sorcerers to ask the spirits to show them the truth!" Aldina hisses angrily and turns around to go to her tent.

This whole thing has not gone as smooth as Sarrehdan had expected. If, no, when the sorcerers find out the truth he will have to face consequences. And they won't be bright and benevolent.

Thinking and seeking for a solution feverishly, the man looks around, his gaze sliding over yellow soil and rocks. Then a sly, evil smile stretches on his lips as a sudden idea comes to his mind. Yes, this could work perfectly well!

* * *

It's long past midnight when a shadow sneaks between the set tents, moving cautiously but determinedly. The camp is silent, wrapped up in a blanket of deep sleep. The shadow stops in front one of the tents with a dim light coming out of it.

Inside the tent there is a young woman, kneeling on the ground, surrounded with lit candles and mumbling foreign words of a quiet but ardent prayer. Her long hair, which is the color of ripe rye, falls down in soft cascade of curls, covering her face. There is a bed with animal furs on it under which two small boys are sleeping. The older child is wrapped around an infant, keeping the baby in a tight embrace, as if protecting him from all the evil.

"Who's here?" the woman asks when candles begin to flicker, as a night breeze seeps into the tent from the curtain pushed aside.

"It's me," a man's gruff voice answers, making her flinch.

"What do you want, Sarrehdan?" Aldina gets up from the floor, instinctively standing between the man and the bed where her children are sleeping.

"I came to talk and bring you to reason not to ask the sorcerers to disturb the spirits." Sarrehdan makes a step forward.

"Bring me to reason? Why are you asking me not to seek the sorcerers' help? Is there something you are hiding from us and afraid that we will find it out?" Aldina frowns at her deceased husband's second-in-command.

"No, of course not," Sarrehdan snorts. "I just don't want the sorcerers to disturb the spirits in vain. Also, when everyone sees that my words are true, you will look like a fool and your respect will crack." The man speaks sweetly, trying to convince her.

"You don't have to worry about my honor and how people respect me. My decision is final. The sorcerers will ask the spirits about the battle and my husband's death. Now, I will have to ask you to leave my tent," Aldina tells him calmly and turns around, showing the man that their little talk is over. She waits patiently for Sarrehdan's leave which never comes, instead a pair of strong hands grab her head. A quick snap and with a sickening crunching noise the woman's lifeless body falls down on the floor. It'd happened so quickly that the poor victim had not had a chance to call for help.

"Now we will see what answer you'll get from your spirits," Sarrehdan laughs disturbingly.

He hovers above the body and removes the lid from the basket he's been holding for the whole time. A yellow rattlesnake crawls out of the basket onto Aldina's motionless body. Sarrehdan quickly grabs it by its neck, so the snake could not bite him and presses the reptile's opened mouth to the woman's neck. With an angry hiss two sharp fangs sink into the white skin, pouring deadly poison into already dead victim's veins. A couple of blood drops appear from the bite when the man removes the snake from Aldina's body.

"Good, you've done your work well," the man chuckles, looking at the twisting snake in his hand. "Now, it's time to send these little bastards to their parents!" John's second-in-command throws a glance at the sleeping boys.

Seeing probably his ninth dream, Dean is smiling slightly in his sleep, arms still wrapped around his baby brother. His even, calm breathing is a clear sign that the child is deep asleep and has not heard any of the noise in the tent. Sam's more restless, twitching and kicking his feet. Who knows what he's doing in his dream. Both children are so lost in the dream world that they do not notice how a five foot long, dangerous and deadly creature with a rattling tail slides towards them on a mountain goat's fur, aiming for Sam's little, pudgy hand.

"What have you done, you son of a bitch!" someone growls behind Sarrehdan's back and before he turns around, a mighty kick in his back sends him flying a few feet away.

A bloody Beqa, battered and covered in cuts, manages to grab the snake in time before it makes a fatal bite on Sam's hand. The young warrior's hands snap and tear off the reptile's head, throwing it at Sarrehdan, who's already on his feet.

All the crashing and hassle startles Sam. He flinches and starts crying, waking up his brother. Dean sits up in the bed, looking around. His blurry gaze falls upon his mother's body and two familiar faces.

"Beqa, what's happening?" Dean asks frightened, clutching at his brother, who is crying loud and miserably.

"Dean, take your brother and go outside. Now!" Beqa barks, covering the children from Sarrehdan's view.

"What happened to Mother?" Dean whimpers, looking at the woman's still body.

"I said go! And wait for my return, don't go anywhere!" Beqa shouts, scaring the boy even more.

Without further questions Dean grabs his little brother, jumps out of the bed and runs outside, leaving two furious warriors inside the tent, ready to slit each other's throats.

 


	18. Chapter 18

As soon as Dean is out of the tent carrying his crying brother in his arms, Beqa turns to the older man.

"What did you do to Aldina, you rascal?" The young man's bewildered gaze falls upon the woman's body.

"She brought it upon herself." Sarrehdan does not look repentant at all.

"Let me guess, she understood that you killed John and ran away like a coward? She was not a foolish woman, you know? Probably she wanted to let others know but you prevented her from doing so by taking her life. Am I not right?" Beqa raises his voice, shaking in rage.

"I see you have lost your mind. I did not kill John! Where did that even come from?" Sarrehdan barks, trying to look indignant and choosing to ignore the part about Aldina.

"No? Are you sure about that? Because this tells otherwise!" There is a pendant on a chain dangling from Beqa's clenched fist. "Is it not yours? I took it from our chieftain while he lay dying on the battleground, murdered by you!"

"Shut your mouth!" Sarrehdan yells frantically, confused and frightened from the unexpected development of events.

"No! I will finish what Aldina had started! I will let everyone know what you did and how you tried to kill John's children by throwing a venomous snake at them!"

"No one will listen to you. Your word compared to mine means nothing. And everyone knows that you ran away from the battle, betraying your chieftain and us, leaving us in trouble. I took care of it. The only person who knew the truth is lying in front of you. And guess what? You will be joining her in a short while!" Despite his age Sarrehdan unsheathes his sword with an envious speed and steps over Aldina's body to strike a blow at the young man.

The sounds of two men clashing in a deadly fight pour from the tent and scare the orphaned children even more. Dean, like Beqa had instructed him has not gone far, waiting in front of the tent holding Sam in trembling arms. He is barefoot, frightened and tired. His mind still can't fully comprehend things which happened: where is his father, why are Beqa and Sarrehdan fighting, and most important what happened to his mother?

A subdued groan and a crashing sound make Dean jump slightly. A minute passes before anything else happens but then the curtain of the tent moves aside and Beqa comes out, swaying a little.

"Come with me, Dean. I will take you to my tent. You can sleep there." Beqa tells the boy, taking Sam from his hands. "Then I must see the elders and inform them of what has happened."

"What happened to mother? Is she alright?" Dean asks, on the edge of crying. He understands that something bad is going on.

"Uh… Your mother…" Beqa begins, not sure how to continue as he takes the boys towards his tent. Before he comes up with a believable lie, a loud yell rips the night's silence apart:

"WAKE UP! ENEMY IN THE CAMP! GRAB YOUR ARMS!"

It's Sarrehdan's inhuman voice, which sounds so shrill and terrifying that Dean clutches at Beqa's leg, hiding his face in the young man's thigh. Sam who's managed to drift off stirs and whines in the arms holding him protectively.

"We have an enemy in our camp? Are we in danger?" Dean looks around in the darkness.

"How did you manage to survive, you son of a bitch? I smashed your head with a stone." Beqa mumbles astonished not expecting the other man to be alive.

"Did you say something?" Dean inquires, grabbing the young man's hand tightly.

"I said we need to hurry up before it's too late." John's second-in-command swallows nervously when Sarrehdan staggers out of Aldina's tent. His whole face is smeared in blood, which is still streaming down from the wound on his head.

Sarrehdan's desperate yelling reaps the fruits: one by one the warriors of Battle Shadows come out of their tents, surprised and confused. Some of them armed, some of them getting dressed and wiping sleep out of their eyes.

Not hesitating anymore Beqa simply grabs Dean, picking him up and runs towards his horse, which is tied to a pillar behind his tent. He puts the boy on the ground and unsheathes his sword.

"Hold him." He hands Sam to Dean again.

"He's right there!" Sarrehdan yells again, pointing to the young man's direction. "Don't let him go! He killed our beloved Aldina and has John's boys hostage!"

Hushed whispers turn into indignant shouts after Sarrehdan's shameless lie.

"Liar!" Beqa shouts in response from the shadows. "Do not listen to him! He was the one who left us behind but before doing that Sarrehdan killed our chieftain! I can prove it!" The young warrior steps out of the shadows, raising his hand with the older man's chain in it.

Confused warriors stop in their tracks, looking from Beqa to Sarrehdan. By this time everyone is awake, including the oldest men.

"He tore it off of me when I was trying to help Aldina. This bastard set a rattlesnake against her. I did kill it but unfortunately it was too late." Sarrehdan smirks, tasting his victory. He knows that people will believe him rather than a young warrior.

"Is that true, Beqa?" One of the warriors asks.

"It is a horrendous lie," Beqa responds calmly. "And he knows that he is lying. Aldina understood that he was telling lies and that's why he killed her, fearing she would tell the seniors. Gods know how much I regret not coming a little earlier. She would've been alive now."

"Do you have any witnesses? Can someone confirm that the words you speak are true?" the warrior asks again.

"John's children were sleeping when this happened. Aldina had already departed to the other world, so it was only I and him facing each other. My only witnesses are the gods and my honor." Beqa understands that his chances are low but he has to try.

"Honor? What honor are you talking about? If you had honor you would not have fallen in love with the wife of your chieftain and have wet dreams about her!" Sarrehdan barks and grins maliciously when he notices how the young warrior flinches. Maybe going and rummaging through Beqa's tent was a brilliant idea after all! One never knows what secrets and interesting things they may find by a fluke.

"Can't you see what's happening here?" Sarrehdan turns to the crowd. "He had been in love with Aldina for years. Knowing that he did not have any chance while John was alive, he used John's death to his advantage. After he sneaked into our camp he went to see and convince Aldina but when she refused his advances he had to kill her. I came to her aid but it was too late. I killed the snake before it bit the boys but this bastard smashed my head with a stone and left me for dead. But gods did not want to greet me in the otherworld just yet, so here I am to bring you the truth!" Sarrehdan finishes his passionate speech, waiting for the reaction from the audience.

"And except your smashed head, what other proof do you have, Sarrehdan?" People stare at John's older second-in-command with expectant eyes.

"There is a dead snake in Aldina's tent, which I killed and if my head and that creature are not enough, here is something else." Sarrehdan fumbles behind his tunic, taking out folded skins, throwing them at the silent but anxious crowd.

"Take a good look at them!"

A few hands pick up and unfold the skins, bringing light over them. A loud rumble stirs in the crowd at the sight of drawings of Aldina's face, made by charcoal so beautifully and precisely, that they look animated.

"Found them under his bed." Sarrehdan chuckles.

A hundred pair of eyes shifts to Beqa, who looks more dead than alive. The young man takes a few steps back towards his horse when Sarrehdan's voice rings in the air:

"I think we have made it clear who is the liar. Kill him!"

Under the deafening and furious roar from the warriors of Battle Shadows, Beqa hurriedly mounts his horse. Dean is in the saddle, pressing his brother to his body, waiting for the young man's return with his heart thudding fast in his small chest.

"Why are they shouting? What is happening? Is my mother dead?" The boy cries in earnest now.

"Hold your brother as tightly as you can and don't let go of him!" Beqa warns, spurring his horse into motion.

"Where are we going?" Dean screams as he hears the crowd's approaching yelling.

"Far away from here!" Beqa responds, kicking one of the warriors in the face when the man tries to grab the reins of his horse.

"But why?" Dean keeps asking.

"Because we will die if we stay."

Those are the last words Beqa says for a while, as he tries to maneuver the horse and cover the boys from the rain of arrows that chase them on their way.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next year, folks ;)

The pursuers that go after the man who's escaped with two infants are forced to go back to the camp as it's impossible to catch up with such a fast horse. Being the second-in-commands Sarrehdan and Beqa had very fast, strong and enduring horses, but the younger warrior's beast was still better: the older man's horse had hurt its hoof in one of the battles and was not as fast as it used to be, but it never had been a problem for Sarrehdan. Until that day. He knew that his loyal horse would not be able to fulfill the task and the older man had commanded the soldiers to shoot arrows and send riders after Beqa in an improbable hope that they might drag him back to the Battle Shadows camp. It seemed that the gods and fate did not want the runaways to be caught, sending the chasers back with empty hands.

As the distance between them and the camp gets longer, Dean stops crying and sniffling, looking around. Sam, exhausted from all the recent events, is sleeping with his face smooshed against his brother's neck. His mouth is slightly open and a thin thread of drool stretches down from the corner, dripping on Dean's nightshirt.

"Beqa, where are we going? What is happening?" the boy asks, craning his head back.

"I am taking you to Dragskalion. You will be safe there," Beqa answers and stifles a grunt.

"Why did we leave the camp?"

"Because… because Sarrehdan is a bad man and he did something horrible," the young warrior explains, not sure how much he should tell the already distressed boy.

"He killed our mother, did he not?" Dean's voice breaks, new tears welling up in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," Beqa mumbles. "If I had come little earlier I could've saved her."

As they keep riding Beqa hears choked sobbing and whimpering coming from Dean, who's trying not to cry too loud to keep his little brother from waking. John's second-in-command smiles bitterly at realizing how much of a burden has fallen on this little boy's shoulders.

Their path lies west from Wild Lands, in the vast and silent steppes under the stars and murky light of the sallow moon. The seldom-felt blowing of a night breeze sounds like a monotonous mourning of a widow over her dead husband. They will reach Dragskalion after two nights and Beqa hopes that he has enough time to do that.

* * *

"We should rest." Beqa announces after many hours of riding. He's surprised to find Dean still awake. Shock must have kept the boy from falling asleep.

He finds a more or less suitable place on the cracked ground and removes his cape. His movements are slow and somewhat hampered. Sometimes a shadow of pain crosses the young man's face but at the last second he regains his composure.

"Beqa, are you alright?" Dean asks, sitting on the cape with Sam in his arms. "Are you in pain?"

"No, don't worry about me. I'm doing fine," the young man tries to assure him. "I will build a fire so we can have some warmth and scare stray beasts."

"Will they hurt Sammy?" The boy looks down at his baby brother.

"No. I won't let them." Beqa smiles at him.

"Thank you, Beqa. You are a good friend and I will remember your kindness," Dean says seriously.

"Thank you, my Chieftain. It's an honor for me to serve you." The young warrior bows with a smile.

After the fire is built and it spreads needed warmth, the travelers' moods improve a little, until a loud growl sounds in the silence.

"I think someone is hungry." Beqa chuckles. "If we are lucky we may catch a steppe rabbit, if not then we have sweet berries and a flask of water."

As they soon find out, rabbits do not want to be caught. At that time Sam has woken up and demands food with ear-piercing shrieks. Beqa mumbles his thanks to the gods when the infant eats the berries with pleasure and gurgles something happily, while the red juice is smeared all over his mouth and face.

When the tired children fall asleep again, only then does Beqa let out a groan of pain, reaching his hand back and trying to pull out the arrow which is firmly stuck in his back. After some fussing and cursing there is a loud snap. It's a broken arrow he's looking at in his palm with the light provided from the small bonfire.

"If you hear me, please don't let me die until I take them to safety. They have no one left in this world. Give me enough strength to take them to Dragskalion." Beqa looks up at the skies with pleading eyes, searching for the gods among the stars. "They need me."

* * *

The next day Beqa's strength and health get worse. The arrow presumably has damaged one of his lungs. The young man keeps coughing and wiping at his mouth, trying to hide the blood from Dean, who keeps throwing worried glances at the man behind his back in the saddle. John's second-in-command gives him a tormented smile and ruffles the boy's dirty blond hair.

As the night crawls and sneaks up on them, Beqa, unable to steady himself in the saddle for any longer, falls down on the ground. The horse, seeing that his master has fallen, neighs worriedly and stops.

"Beqa?" Dean asks, frightened. "What's wrong with you?"

There is no actual answer, just an incoherent mumbling.

Dean clutches Sam to his chest tightly and jumps down the horse. He puts Sam on the ground and kneels beside Beqa, grabbing his hand.

"Beqa, talk to me, please," he pleads, shaking the young man slightly.

"An arrow… one of the arrows hit me when we left the camp," Beqa wheezes.  
"Can I help? I can pull it out!" Dean exclaims tugging at the young man's hand. "Sit up, I will help you!"

"No, it's too late, Dean." John's second-in-command smiles. "But thank you, my Chieftain. That was very kind of you!"

"No, don't die! I don't want you to die. You are my friend and I don't need dead friends! I need them alive!" Dean starts wailing.

"Dean, listen to me," Beqa starts and licks his dried lips. He pushes the flask of water away when Dean presses it to his mouth. "No, keep it. You will need it more."

With a lot of effort Beqa sits up ad leans against a big rock. His blurred vision slides over the horizon, as if calculating how much longer is left till Dragskalion.

"Dean, look at me. You must listen carefully and remember everything I tell you. You understand?" Beqa asks and after a silent nod he continues. "When we marched to Hallowfield and lost the battle, Sarrehdan killed your father, because he wanted to be the next chieftain of Battle Shadows. Here, take this and never lose it." Beqa gives the boy Sarrehdan's chain with the pendant. "Your father ripped it off of him before dying and gave it to me when I found him on the battlefield. John asked me to protect you and your brother from Sarrehdan, as he had planned to kill both of you." Beqa takes a deep breath.

"I thought he was father's friend, just like you." Dean sniffles, clenching a fist around the pendant.

"You are too little to know people well. Even adults make mistakes, getting a wrong impression of someone, especially if they play it well." Beqa sighs. "When Sarrehdan returned to the camp he said I was a traitor who ran away from the battlefield, leaving them in trouble. Everyone believed his words except your mother. She confronted Sarrehdan and unfortunately for her she lost her life." Beqa pauses and drapes his cape over the boys. "Dean, I want you to promise me something. When you grow up, you must find Sarrehdan and avenge your parents’ deaths."

"I swear, I will kill him when I grow up. I swear on their souls and Sammy's life."

Beqa smiles; though still small, John had been raising his son as a true warrior. He'd prepared him from his childhood to be an honorable, merited leader of Battle Shadows, respecting sacred oaths, family and friendship.

"You will be a great leader when you grow up." Beqa pets him on the cheek. "One more thing, when morning comes, take the horse and keep going straight. You will reach Dragskalion in an hour. When you get there ask for Laqsos. He is your father's friend and will shelter you."

"The horse is too tall. I can't reach it. You must come with us," Dean whines, still clutching at small hope that Beqa will manage to go with them.

The young man chuckles. "You can stand on this rock and climb the horse. He is a good horse."

"Yes, he is," Dean nods his agreement.

"Oh, almost forgot. Take this," Beqa gives him a small dagger. "If anything tries to get near and bite you, you have the weapon. I'm afraid you're too small for my sword but this is good too."

"Alright. I will protect Sammy and you from the beasts. Go to sleep, Beqa." Dean assures the dying man and lies on the ground, wrapping his arms around Sam.

Dean wakes up when he feels something hot running down his body. The boy rubs his eyes, wondering what it might be. The he realizes: his little brother has peed on him.

"Sammy, why did you pee on me?" Dean shouts angrily, which startles his brother and throws him into a violent crying fit.

"Please calm down. You are hurting my ears." Dean pushes the cape aside, crawling out of the warm nest he's made out of it. His gaze falls on Beqa, who's still leaning against the rock. It looks like the young man is sleeping but there is something frightening about how stiff he looks.

"Beqa?" Dean whispers, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "Do you feel better?"

The boy screams when the dead body slides and falls on the ground. The horse lying near his master nudges him in the side, as if asking to wake up.

Dean is frightened beyond belief. He is left in the vast steppes with a crying brother, a dead body and a horse. It is the first time he's ever been in such stressful situation, when he does not know what to do. After some long moments of hesitation, he returns to the still-screaming Sam and removes the wet loincloth from the infant. Then cleans and wipes any trace of urine from his brother's pudgy legs with the edge of Beqa's cape. After cleaning up Sam he puts the dagger beside him.

"I will not let any beasts come closer." Dean mutters, wrapping himself and the infant in the cape. Sam keeps whining and fidgeting, obviously in need of something.

"What do you want, Sammy? Are you hungry?" Dean opens the small bag, which had been full of sweet berries not so long ago. There is less than half a bag left.

"Eat," Dean takes some berries out and feeds his brother, forgetting about his growling stomach and hunger. "I am not hungry."

Sammy eats the berries, drinks some water and wraps himself around his protector; the only person left for him in the whole world.  
After Sammy falls asleep and all the noises disappear, once again causing dead silence to fall, Dean starts to sniffle, as the faces of his parents resurface from his mind.

"It's alright, Sammy. I will protect you," Dean promises as he keeps swallowing his tears. "I will not let anything bad happen to you."  
In the end tiredness takes over and Dean sinks into restless sleep.

* * *

It's early morning when approaching footsteps wake him up. Dean hurriedly sits up and grabs the dagger, while looking at a middle aged man with a beard.

"Do not get any closer!" he screams at the man. "I will kill you if you try and hurt my brother!"

The man with a bow and arrows on his back stops in front of the children and slowly squats.

"I have no intention of harming you. Who are you and what are you doing here? What happened to him?" The man's gaze falls upon Beqa's body.

"I am Dean and this is my brother Sammy. He is my friend but a bad friend because he died and left me. We ran from the camp of Battle Shadows as my father's second-in command killed my parents and wanted to kill us too but Beqa helped us escape. We wanted to go to Dragskalion," Dean explains.

"You said your parents were killed. Who was your father?" the stranger asks.

"My father was John the Slayer, the chieftain of Battle Shadows.

A shadow of recognition crosses over the man's face. He has heard that name many times before!

"And what are you looking for in Dragskalion?" he asks the boy.

"Beqa told me to find Laqsos. He can help us. Do you know him?" Dean asks hopefully.

"I am from Dragskalion and yes, I have known Laqsos for a long time. Unfortunately he is not among the living anymore. The gods took him one month ago," the man responds.

Dean flinches. This is bad, so bad. What are they going to do now when every hope has shattered?

Sensing the boy's distress, the man hurries to reassure him.

"Come with me. I will give you and your brother food and shelter. Gods did not give me children but I will raise you as my own." The man extends his hand to Dean.

After a small pause, Dean nods. "Alright but first we must bury my friend. I can't leave him like this."

The man smiles. "You are very generous, Dean."

After they bury Beqa's body in front of the rock, Dean adds:

"I will remember this place. I will see him again when I grow up."

"Of course you will. Now we must go." The man picks up Sam and takes Dean towards the horse.

Before mounting the horse the boy turns to the man and asks:

"Who are you and what were you doing here?"

"I was searching for my friend's lost goats. I thought maybe they ran this way but I don't see any traces. I did not find any goats but I found you instead. I am a hunter and my name is Bobbi."

Throwing one last sad look at Beqa's grave, Dean steadies himself in the saddle, while Bobbi mounts the horse and takes his place behind Dean. Even Sammy seems content with how the events turned out.

As they get closer to Dragskalion Dean feels his heart hammering fast in his chest. He knows that there is still hope and that with their new protector he and his little brother will be safe.

**End of part III**


	20. Chapter 20

                                                                                          **Part IV  Under The Falling Skies**

"I should strangle you for not listening to me! What on earth were you thinking following me? You could have gotten yourself killed, you stupid, stubborn fool!"

"I am not a child anymore, so stop shouting at me! Besides, it's always you who likes to find trouble and get into it. Had I not followed you, who would have saved your ass from that giant with two axes? He was a second away from cutting your head off! So I would appreciate it if you'd be so kind as to quit frothing at the mouth!"   
  
"I had it under control! And when your older brother tells you not to do something, you obey!"  
  
"I am twenty-six years old for the love of the gods!"   
  
"I don't care! You are still young for this shit!"   
  
"Look, I know that you care for me and want to keep me safe, but please understand that I am not a helpless child who needs to be under constant supervision. I can take care for myself and more importantly I can help you! I am grateful and I will never be able to repay you for everything that you have done for me since our childhood. I remember sleepless nights you'd spend by my side when I was sick, you refusing to eat until I'd get better, taking out my night pot and cleaning me. Yes, don't make that surprised face! You might've thought I was too small to remember such details but they are here, in my head. Just let me help you too. It's all I ask for, Dean!"  
  
No need to say that these two bickering riders are siblings. The older brother, Dean, is still sulking and angry. He's very handsome with short hair of a dirty blond color, and his beautiful green eyes are flashing as he chews on his full lips. He's tall and broad-shouldered, leather armor wrapping his perfectly-muscled chest and abdomen; strong legs press against the flanks of his horse as he keeps riding and grumbling under his breath. He is stern and grim. This is a man who's seen a lot in his young life.   
  
The other man, Sam, is taller than Dean despite being the younger of the two. He looks even more intimidating than his older sibling, but deep inside he is the one with the softer, more compassionate heart. His hazel eyes, which are almost hidden under floppy dark hair, look saddened by the fact that Dean still does not want to acknowledge his adulthood. Similar to his sibling Sam has bulging muscles and a perfectly-proportioned body.   
  
As the minutes fly by the dusty road shortens little by little, until they enter a small town with narrow streets and wooden huts.  
  
"Looks like we are both in trouble now," Sam chuckles.  
  
"What are you talking about?" asks Dean's low, growling voice.   
  
Without answering Sam points ahead to where an old man is sitting in front one of the huts, frowning deeply and looking at the riders as if he wants to rip them apart.   
  
"Ah, Bobbi, having some fresh a…" Dean begins but the man interrupts him rudely.  
  
"Where in the gods' names where you? Did I say you could leave the town?" His sharp and commanding voice makes the young men flinch and they lower their gaze, feeling embarrassed like little, chided puppies.   
  
"No, you didn't," Sam mutters.  
  
"Then why on Earth did you sneak out?" Bobbi stands up from the bench and approaches the brothers, who have dismounted their horses and shift from foot to foot awkwardly.   
  
"We just went for a short stroll. It's boring in town, nothing exciting is happening," Dean tries to lie convincingly.   
  
"Short stroll you say?" Bobbi arches his brow.  
  
"Yes, Dean did not want to go alone and I went with him. You should take some walks outside this town too." Sam laughs nervously, trying not to meet Bobbi's drilling gaze.   
  
Without a word the old man grabs both brothers by their ears and drags them towards his hut, not paying attention to their indignant shouts. He quickly pushes them inside and closes the door behind.  
  
"You think I am a fool don't you? I may be old but it does not mean my brains have withered up and I can't distinguish a lie from truth." Bobbi throws an angry look at the brothers. "Sit down," he adds more mildly.   
  
After both brothers take their seats at the table, Bobbi sits down opposite them. His beard is grey and his hair almost white. Twenty-five years have passed since he'd found two small orphaned children in the desert. Gods know he's given them shelter, food, and as much love as his hard-hearted nature could provide.   
  
"I know you went after that group of robbers which was raiding our town for these past few days. The blood on your swords and boots tell me so." Bobbi smirks, noticing the young men's perplexed expressions.   
  
Knowing that denying won't gain them anything, Dean reluctantly agrees. "You are right, Bobbi. I just could not sit here lazily, doing nothing, while those sons of bitches robbed and killed some of our friends. They needed to be punished."  
  
"And you thought that fighting with twenty scoundrels who were armed to the teeth alone was a good idea?" Bobbi asks sharply.  
  
"That's why I went with him. Though he did not appreciate my presence," Sam mumbles quietly.   
  
Bobbi sighs hopelessly. He firmly believes that these two will be the death of him. He's not afraid of poison, arrows or a beast that could be the reason of his departure to the Otherworld; no, the only thing he fears is that something may happen to these brothers who he has raised as his own children. The old man will not be able to withstand the pain if misfortune falls upon his adopted sons.   
  
"It was not much of a hassle. I dealt with them easily," Dean assures the old man and after Sam mutters something under his breath, adds: "Besides, Sammy was with me and helped as well. What's important is that these bastards will not come to the town anymore. They are all dead. We brought all the stolen belongings back and will give them back to their owners."   
  
Bobbi stands up, leaves the room and soon returns with three mugs and a jug full of ale. He fills their mugs and the three of them drink in awkward silence.   
  
"Next time think before jumping into action," Bobbi tells Dean. "I am worried for your safety, son. I have no one except the two of you. Do not kill me before my time comes."  
  
"I never wanted to make you worried, Bobbi. I am sorry if I failed," Dean says quietly, placing the empty mug on the table.   
  
"Alright, apologies accepted. Now, go and return those things to their rightful owners, before it gets too sentimental and we start shedding rivers of tears." The old man barks out a laugh, diffusing the situation, which has gotten quite tense and uncomfortable. 

Releasing audible sighs of relief both brothers stand up, clap the old man on his back and head towards the door. 

As soon as they are out, Bobbi leans against his chair, making it creak. His gaze freezes on the opposite wall, eyes not moving from one spot.   
  
"You have come of age, son. I wonder if the gods will ever tell you about his whereabouts."

* * *

After finding and distributing the stolen belongings to their owners and making them extremely happy, the brothers are taken to a tavern as a gesture of the locals' gratitude. 

The time passes quickly in drinking, laughing and merry singing, which more resembles a roaring of a drunken bear. Everyone in the tavern including the owner is tipsy, happy and celebrating, thanking the higher forces for these two brothers who were miraculously found and saved by an old hunter in the vast desert. Indeed they'd been a precious gift sent by the gods.   
  
It's late when the drunken public decides to break up. Dean and his brother get up and get ready to leave too when Dean's attention is caught by two men talking in hushed tones near the entrance of the tavern.   
  
"Yes, they have come back after all those years of wandering," a short man hiccups, grinning at his friend.  
  
"Hmm, that is not good. I hope to the gods that he does not plan to attack our town." The other man with a ginger beard scratches his head, looking somewhat intimidated.  
  
"Who are you talking about?" Dean inquires, butting into the conversation.  
  
"A huge army called Battle Shadows, led by their chieftain Sarrehdan the Furious, has returned to Wild Lands after many years of wandering," the short man responds.  
  
All the blood and color drains from Dean's face as the man's words ring in his head. Noticing his brother's deadly white face, Sam grabs his arm, holding him firmly in place.   
  
"When did this happen?" Dean asks hoarsely.  
  
"Just a few hours ago. Some merchants who were passing through our town saw them and barely escaped before it became too late."  
  
Dean turns to Sam with an unreadable but frightening expression on his face, which stirs doubts and worry in the younger brother's head.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" Sam gulps nervously.   
  
Dean grits his teeth, overwhelmed by the tidings he has heard. He steps toward the door but before going outside, turns to face Sam.

"My time has come, Sammy. Time to avenge our father."  
  
Dean disappears into the darkness of the night, leaving his still gaping and dazed younger brother behind in the tavern.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No action in this chapter BUT I wanted to give you an idea what awaits Dean.
> 
> Next update on January 30th.

"Bobbi, please say something," Dean pleads the old man. After their return from the tavern and telling the hunter about what they've heard, Bobbi has fallen into a frightening silence. A slowly beating pulse on his neck is the only sign showing that he's still alive.   
  
"What do you want me to say?" The man finally breaks the silence. "You have already made up your mind."   
  
"Yes but your word means a lot to us. To me. You are like a father to us. I don't know, maybe a bit of an advice, a suggestion, damn, even an angry remark. Anything. I thought you would yell, get furious and tell us not to go. Just… just don't sit there quietly and pretend you did not hear a word of what I've said. Please!" Dean sounds utterly confused and lost. This is not how he imagined the conversation to be.   
  
"Dean Winchester," Bobbi straightens up, his voice booming and filling every corner and spot in the room, which makes Dean flinch unwillingly. "No matter what I tell you, how much I try to persuade or convince you to change your mind, it will not work. And you know why? Because it is your fate to reclaim what's yours. One cannot change the fate and what's already written in the book of life. Your destiny is to avenge your parents' death and take what rightfully belongs to you! Who am I to convince you otherwise? There will be no force that will prevent you from becoming the next chieftain and certainly an opinion from an old, stubborn man like me has no value."  
  
"That's not true!" Sam exclaims heatedly. "How can you say that? Everyone in this damn town respects your opinion. You are one of the most honorable men here!"  
  
"Shut up, Sam," Bobbi says tiredly. "Stop shouting, I am not deaf."  
  
"Why are you so sure that I will become the next chieftain? How do you know that?" Dean narrows his eyes and they glow like a pair of emeralds under the light cast from an oil lamp.  
  
"Son," Bobbi begins. "Remember, the first step to success is believing in yourself and the venture."   
  
"I wasn't…" Dean argues but the old man cuts him off.  
  
"Besides, you are fighting for the right reasons. And when the gods see that they will grant you their blessing and protection."   
  
"So, you firmly believe that Dean will succeed?" Sam asks, hoping for a positive answer.   
  
"Of course," Bobbi nods, standing up and going to the shelves in the corner of the room. He rummages in the clay pots placed on the top shelf, removing and putting their lids back, 'till he finds what he's looking for.   
  
"When I found you in the desert you were wearing these necklaces around your necks." He hands the brothers two leather cords with bear fangs on them. There are some symbols engraved on the fangs under a warrior with fiery wings, who's holding a heavy, two-bladed sword. "I cannot read the symbols but according to the research I've done, it's the emblem of the Winchester clan," Bobbi adds, as he sits down at the table again.   
  
The brothers take a good look at the necklaces before putting them around their necks. They look at the old man expectantly, knowing that Bobbi is not done yet. And they're right.  
  
"As to this one," the old man extends his hand towards Dean. "You said Beqa had given it to you before he died and that it's Sarrehdan's, torn off by your father."   
  
"Yes," Dean rasps, taking the necklace from Bobbi. It's a silver chain with a round pendant hanging on it. "I remember everything Beqa told me."  
  
"I suppose you have already thought about departing. When do you plan to do so?" Bobbi asks, trying to disguise his nervousness. His slightly trembling fingers clench around his knees, while the old man tries to look composed and unnerved.   
  
"Tomorrow morning." Dean's answer is short but exhaustive.  
  
"I told him that maybe we should stay here a little more and make a thorough plan but he does not want to wait any longer, fearing that Sarrehdan may move the camp somewhere else and we won't find him." Sam throws a careful glance at his frowning brother.   
  
"Tomorrow morning you say?" Bobbi inquires. "And what will you do when you get there? Attack Sarrehdan and yell into his face that you are the rightful chieftain of Battle Shadows before stabbing him?"  
  
"Um... Basically yes," Dean responds with a perplexed look on his face.   
  
Bobbi groans. "Boy, the gods may have granted you good looks but they surely did not give you much wit."   
  
"I don't understand. You confuse me, Bobbi," Dean admits sincerely.  
  
"Do you think it'll be so easy just to approach and kill him? He will be surrounded by thousands of warriors who will simply rip you into pieces before you even touch a single hair on his head. Idiot!" Bobbi snorts, shaking his head in disbelief.   
  
"What should I do then?" Dean shouts in despair. "I must do something when I get there, shouldn't I?"  
  
"First of all calm down and stop acting like an outraged hag," Bobbi throws him an irritated glance. "Your fighting skills are excellent. You are fast, strong and enduring. You and your brother are the best warriors in this town. But it's not enough. You need to use your brain more than the sword."  
  
"What do you suggest, Bobbi?" Deans asks, sensing that the old man has something useful to offer.  
  
"I suggest you ask for seniors when you get there. Say that you have brought important tidings which you will announce when everyone, especially the oldest men gather around. When they do so and hopefully Sarrehdan will be there too, only then will you tell them that you are the older son of John Winchester and come to reclaim the title of the chieftain of Battle Shadows," Bobbi speaks calmly.  
  
"And? You think they will believe me?" Dean chuckles but shuts up abruptly when he meets the hunter's icy look.

"You really are an idiot, aren't you, boy?" Bobbi growls low and threateningly. "Why on earth did I give you your necklaces? Show it to them. The seniors will surely remember the emblem of your clan. Then, when they will be certain that you are John's sons, you must challenge Sarrehdan to the Circle of Fire."  
  
"What's the Circle of Fire?" the brothers ask simultaneously.   
  
"It's an ancient and sacred custom of every warrior tribe. If a leader was accused of being a traitor, who had arrogated something that did not rightfully belong to him using sly and devious ways, any warrior could challenge him into the Circle of Fire, where the accused man and the accuser would fight to death in the circle made of fire with their eyes blindfolded. The title of Chieftain would go or stay, depending on the final result, to the winner." Bobbi taps his fingers on the table. He knows and believes that Dean will prevail but it still scares him out of his mind that something could happen to his adopted son.  
  
"What if Sarrehdan refuses?" Sam asks doubtfully. He's very confident in his brother's skills. Of course, why not, when Bobbi used to make them fight with their eyes blindfolded, ignoring their whining and childish temper tantrums. Now Sam understands that whatever training the old man gave them was done on purpose and he is thankful for Bobbi's foreseeing.   
  
"He can't," Bobbi says. "If he refuses he will be stoned to death by his own warriors."  
  
"Have there been any cases of the Circle of Fire which you can remember?" Dean leans forward, genuinely intrigued by Bobbi's words.   
  
"I can think of a few. And all of them ended with the deserved and rightful victories."  
  
"Perfect," Dean smiles lazily. "The bastard will pay for everything." His eyes flash dangerously in the dim light.  
  
"Promise me something, Dean," Bobbi clears his throat, his voice thick with emotion. "Promise me that you will take care of yourself and your brother and when you succeed, you won't forget the drunk, stubborn old man you're leaving behind in this crumbling hut."   
  
The older Winchester almost chokes on his tongue, not expecting such intense emotion from Bobbi. The old hunter has always been stingy in showing his inner feelings but deep down the both brothers knew how much he cared for them. 

"You don't have to ask, Bobbi. I promise, we will meet again soon." Dean laughs a little.  
  
"You better keep that promise, you dolt," Bobbi grumbles and then gasps quietly when the brothers attack him and hold hostage in their strong embraces. The old man's lips quirk up into a smile, as he claps his boys' backs gently.

* * *

The next morning, when the sun has just started to color the sky a pastel pink color and chase away the dull, grey shades, two young men bid their goodbyes to a grey-haired man standing in front of a wooden hut before galloping away to meet their destiny.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, writing this chapter was a killer. I put all of my energy and nerves into it to make it good. I hope it’s not too bad. Writing action scenes is one hell of a hard job. I hope I did not fail miserably :D 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think :)
> 
> Next update on 14-th or 15-th of February.

"I think we should take a break and let our horses rest. They are all foamed." Sam glides his hand over his beast's neck, feeling sticky sweat on his fingertips.

"Just a little more," Dean answers in a gruff voice. "We're almost there."

They gallop for a few more miles before reaching a pile of rocks, darkened and battered by frequently changing weather. They seem old, half-fallen but still maintaining their previous shape.

"It's here," declares Dean, pointing at the stones. "We buried him in front of this one."

The brothers dismount their horses, stepping toward the stones. Sam throws a careful glance to the side, observing Dean's actions.

Dean reaches his hand out towards the front stone, touching it gently.

"Hello, Beqa," he says with a sad smile. "I came to see you, my friend. You bad friend." Dean swallows thickly as the downpour of emotions and childhood memories crash over him.

"Dean…" Sam begins, clearly wanting to comfort his brother. He knows about Beqa, who he was and what he did to save them from Sarrehdan's bloody hands. Dean has told him those stories so many times that sometimes Sam can see images flashing before his eyes, not knowing whether it's his imagination playing tricks on him or if he really witnessed them. "Maybe we should…" Sam makes a step towards his brother but Dean's raised hand stops him.

"Just be silent, Sammy. Please."

Sam nods quietly, sinking into his own gloomy thoughts.

Seconds and minutes fly past while both brothers stand in front of the rocks. Dean has closed his eyes and there is a thoughtful concentration written all over his face. His lips move fast, as if whispering something Sam cannot hear. Probably telling various tales to his deceased friend of what has happened after his death.

"Sleep in peace, my friend," Dean's raspy voice lingers in the air. "May we meet again in afterlife."

The older Winchester takes out a small flask from his pocket and pours ale on the ground, emptying and shaking the flask, drawing out the last remaining drops of alcohol.

"Let's go, Sammy. We're done here." He turns to face his brother before approaching his horse.

"But we should rest, Dean," Sam objects, petting his horse.

"I know. That tree looks suitable," Dean points ahead at the large, tall acacia. "Look at all the shadows it provides. We, including our horses can easily fit under its branches."

"Nice choice," Sam hums contented as he mounts his horse.

"I remember that tree. It was here when Beqa brought us to this place. It's grown even thicker and taller since then. We can rest for an hour or two and then get going to fulfill our mission," Dean states, maneuvering his horse.

With these words they head toward the tree, which can provide them with somewhat comfortable shelter from the killer desert heat. Maybe they'll be able to get some sleep too.

* * *

"Lothril!" a man's angry voice roars and a small boy starts, gasping out loud. "You fell asleep again!"

"I am sorry Father, this will not happen again." Lothril jumps up, rubbing his eyes hurriedly. He's only eight years old and it's no wonder that the boy has fallen asleep after a sleepless night. His young sibling has had a fever for a couple of days, depriving the older brother and his parents of sleep.

"Alright," the man says more gently. "Take this and fill it with water." He hands a small iron cauldron to his son. "Meanwhile I'll build a fire. We need to prepare a medicine for your sister, as the sorcerer told us."

"Yes, Father." The boy takes the cauldron from his hands and runs behind the long row of tents, towards large wooden barrels in which they keep drinking water.

He's humming a cheerful melody under his nose while filling up the cauldron with fresh, cold water when he hears the approaching sounds of snorting horses. The boy raises his head and his eyes widen at the sight of two riders, who don't look familiar.

"Is this a Battle Shadows camp?" the first one, who looks older, asks.

"Y-yes," Lothril stammers, clenching his fingers around the cauldron.

"Don't be afraid. We're not going to hurt you," the other man adds gently. "I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean."

"Is Sarrehdan at the camp?" Dean enquires, taking a look at the tents behind the boy's back.

"Yes, the chieftain is here," Lothril nods hurriedly, frowning slightly when Dean snorts at the word 'Chieftain'.

"What is your name?" Sam asks.

"My name is Lothril," the boy answers more bravely, seeing that the strangers are not trying to harm him.

"Alright, listen here, Lothril," Dean leans forward. "We need to see someone, probably a senior, a priest or a sorcerer who has the power to gather every living soul in this camp. And before you say that Sarrehdan can do that, I'll say that no, it has to be someone else. So, who can you think of?"

"Umm…" the boy purses his lips, thinking fervently. "Oh, then you need to see the chief sorcerer Magnus."

"Can you take us to him?" the brothers ask at the same time.

Lothril nods. "I can. Follow me."

Magnus, the chief sorcerer, is in his tent when a loud rumbling seeps through the curtains that form the walls. He is an old man, a hundred years old or maybe more, no one really knows, dressed in a black cassock and wearing a thick silver chain for a belt around his waist. He has a crooked nose, a long white beard and narrow, fox-like grey eyes. He throws unfolded parchment and a quill aside, sighing deeply.

"What is the matter?" he barks angrily, rushing out of his tent with atypical speed for his age.

There are some warriors gathered in front of his tent, whispering amongst themselves. Then his gaze falls on two young men he's never seen before.

"Who are you?" Magnus asks them. "I have not seen you before."

"They asked to see you and I brought them in front of your tent." Lothril speaks up, sneaking out of the crowd.

"You're dismissed. Go back to your family," Magnus waves him off.

"Yes, sorcerer," Lothril exclaims and runs back to his tent with a cauldron in his hands. Hopefully, his father will not yell at him again.

"Who are you and how may I help you?" Magnus contemplates the newcomers attentively.

"You can help us by gathering everyone in the camp," Dean declares. "I need every soul in this camp to be present and listening when I make my speech."

"And why would I do that? Who are you to demand such things of me?" Magnus furrows his brow.

"Because I am John Winchester's older son Dean and I have some things to tell you. Now, do your work, sorcerer." Dean's voice is icy cold but there is a raging storm behind his green eyes.

For a minute nothing happens except intense staring between Magnus and Dean. Then the sorcerer detaches a horn from his chain, slowly raising it to his mouth.

A powerful and lasting note sounds all over the camp: a signal for everyone to gather near the arena.

* * *

"What on earth is happening, for what reason did you summon me? I was in the middle of discussing very important matters!" Hurried footsteps, accompanied by agitated shouts are getting near, as the gathered crowd parts to let their Chieftain – Sarrehdan the Furious - pass.

Sarrehdan's hair and beard have turned snowy white from all the passing years; he is now sixty-two years old. There are fresh scars along with the old ones on his wrinkled face, which looks grim, drawn and taut from merciless weather and constant wandering.

"These people have come to our camp, bringing important tidings. But they refused to speak until everyone gathered," Magnus informs him.

Sarrehdan turns to Dean and his brother, eyeing them suspiciously. A shadow of doubt crosses his mind like a flash of lightning but he quickly brushes it off.

"Who are you and what do you have to say?" he asks harshly. "Be quick, I don't have much time."

"Is that so?" Dean steps forward, chuckling slightly. "I'm sure all these people will be very interested to hear the story of how you killed our father on the battleground."

"How dare you? Who are you to accuse me of such awful deed?" Sarrehdan bellows, startling small children nearby, who immediately start wailing.

"Who am I? Very well, let me enlighten you. I am Dean and this is my brother Sam. We are the sons of John the Slayer, the rightful chieftain of Battle Shadows, whom you killed in Hallowfield. You escaped from the town, returned to the camp and killed our mother. You also wanted to kill us but Beqa, my father's loyal second-in-command, saved us by escaping from the camp, but because of your horrible and false accusations he was considered a traitor. He died a hero's death protecting me and my brother, sacrificing his own life. I have come to claim what belongs to me, for I am your rightful Chieftain!" Dean finishes his heated speech proudly and takes a look at Sarrehdan, who looks like death itself.

"You are a liar! I have not killed anyone! Guards, kill him!" Sarrehdan commands but before the warriors move, Magnus stops them with a raised hand.

"You said you are John's son. Do you have proof?" The man turns to the older Winchester.

"Of course!" Dean smirks, taking off his necklace. "You should remember the symbol of the Winchester clan."

Magnus takes the necklace, noticing the winged figure engraved on a bear fang. His gaze moves from the necklace to Sarrehdan.

"It does have the Winchesters' symbol on it," he announces. A loud whisper rolls through the crowd, as people exchange curious and surprised looks.

"Good," Dean cuts in. "But this is not it. I have another proof that Sarrehdan is a murderer. When he killed my father, John managed to tear this off of him." He hands Magnus another necklace.

The sorcerer's look begins to change: from doubtful it slowly transfers into a shocked and trustful expression.

"It is your necklace, Sarrehdan." He turns to the false chieftain. "I remember it well, for it was I who made it for you."

"This is not true..." Sarrehdan's lips tremble, as he feels he's doomed. "I do not know how they managed to get these things but they are lying!" He turns towards his people, who he's led for past twenty-five years, seeking sympathy and support in their eyes. He finds none.

"I am not done yet," Dean continues determinedly. "I am challenging you to the Circle of Fire! If I am your rightful chieftain then gods will grant me victory!" Dean throws a glance at his brother, who's being silent for all this time. Sam just gives him an encouraging, though nervous smile.

The crowd goes wild; anxious exclamations, shouts and encouraging cries sound from every direction.

"Silence!" Magnus yells and all the noise stops instantly.

"You know the rules, Sarrehdan. If a chieftain is challenged, he cannot refuse, or his own men will stone him to death. You have no choice but to accept his challenge." The sorcerer speaks calmly, seeking for any emotion on Sarrehdan's bloodless face. "What will your answer be?"

"I accept the challenge," Sarrehdan grits through his teeth after an awfully long silence.

"Good," Magnus nods. "Prepare the circle," he tells the men nearby.

Without a word Sarrehdan passes by his side, heading towards his tent, to get ready for the challenge.

"Dean," Sam calls worriedly, while people around them begin the preparations. "Please be careful." He grabs his brother's arm firmly, fear in his eyes. He knows that fighting with a blindfold will not be easy, though his sibling was always better than him in it. Sam feels his stomach twisting and churning from anxiety.

"It's alright, Sammy. Do not worry about me." Dean chuckles and pulls him into a tight hug, clapping on the back. "I'll be fine."

"You'd better be, you fool," Sam mumbles before pulling away.

* * *

Dean Winchester, the older son of the former chieftain of Battle Shadows, is facing his rival, the current chieftain Sarrehdan the Furious, inside the circle drawn in the yellow sand of the dessert. Both of them are armed with shields and swords. Their eyes, full of lethal loathing, send silent curses and damnation to each other. Heaving chests rise and fall, inhaling and filling up their lungs with hot air.

"I must remind you of the rules," Magnus turns to the rivals. "You shall fight to the death. There shall be only one man standing in the end, who shall be granted the title of the chieftain. You shall fight with your blindfolds on, and they shall stay on 'till the end. If either of you try to take them off, archers shall be commanded to kill you on the spot. May the gods be on the side of the righteous! Put the blindfolds on them!" Magnus gestures to the two men standing behind Dean's and Sarrehdan's backs.

"Light up the circle!" he orders, after the first command is fulfilled.

As the torches touch the sand, the fire stretches like a lazy dragon with a cracking and hissing sound, connecting and turning into one immense circle around the fighters.

"You may begin after the signal," Magnus informs Dean and Sarrehdan and blows his horn.

When the last note of the horn fades out the rivals begin to move, making cautious, circling steps. Neither of them attempts to attack at first, both waiting for the other one to make a move.

Dean recalls Bobbi's words, which ring loud in his mind: _"Imagine you are blind, Dean. You cannot see a damn thing. What do you do? You sharpen your other senses. Sound and smell are your friends. Count on them and use them to your advantage!"_

It's good that there is dead silence around them. The whole camp is watching them eerily quietly. Probably thanks to Magnus' warning.

Sarrehdan makes a subdued groan when he gets dangerously close to the fire and the flames lick up his hand. It's an instant regret as Dean quickly calculates where he's standing and lunges forward with a mighty roar. Somehow Sarrehdan guesses where his rival is aiming and blocks Dean's strike with his shield. The steel from which the shield is made is strong, sending sparks in the air from the impact with the sword.

"You will pay for everything you've done, you mangy dog!" Dean yells, as he jumps aside, avoiding his rival's attack.

As the fight gets more intense and desperate, the crowd forgets about Magnus' warning, getting loud and ecstatic. Some of them even encourage Dean with their shouts. The sorcerer vainly tries to calm the public but when his efforts don't bring any results, he simply gives up.

Meanwhile Dean gains advantage, clearly oppressing his rival with constant, fast and furious strikes. He is young and strong and Sarrehdan's age plays a significant role too. But he is sly and devious and Dean must not let himself get relaxed just because of his enemy's old age.

To avoid Dean's another strike, Sarrehdan jumps back, miraculously saving himself from a deadly blow and almost falls into the fire behind him, crashing into the sand. He quickly rolls on the side and stands up with some effort. The man is getting tired as his labored breathing and panting indicates.

"The demons of the Underwolrd shall feast on your bones tonight!" he snarls at Dean, pressing the shield to his body for better coverage.

Clashing of the swords and shields, hissing of the sand under the warriors' feet, blinding sparks induced from continuously striking weapons and enraged roars send the public into frenzy. Utterly concerned and worried, Sam watches his brother fight with their sworn enemy. They remind Sam of two falcons, covered in bloody cuts and wounds, tearing at each other for a piece of meat.

Dean's shield rattles as the tip of Sarrehdan's sword drives and plunges into it, cutting into the muscles of the older Winchester's arm. Blood pours out, coloring the sand red, and the sight makes the crowd go even wilder.

"Dean!" Sam shouts anxiously, ready to jump into the Circle of Fire, snatch the sword out of his brother's hand and send Sarrehdan to the Otherworld himself, when suddenly every single noise around him dies out: Dean throws the smashed shield aside. His lips quiver in uncontrollable anger, the crease between his eyebrows deepens and the young warrior lets out a yell full of rage and fury, which almost shakes the very ground on which they stand. With both hands grabbing the hilt of his sword tightly, Dean makes a mighty, swift blow, followed by a heavy thud.

For a second nothing happens. No one says a word and there is only ominous silence around, broken by a banner's flapping and the crackling of fire. Then, Magnus' hoarse voice declares:

"The fight is over. You may remove the blindfold!"

Dean has to squint as the fire's light and the sun's rays hit him in the eyes. He blinks a few times and looks around. The first thing he notices is blood all over the sand, then Sarrehdan's motionless, beheaded body.

The young man's chest heaves, and with a free hand he wipes the sweat off of his forehead and looks at the crowd, seeking his brother as he walks out of the Circle of Fire.

"We have the winner - the rightful chieftain of the Battle Shadows!" Magnus declares. "Hail your leader, Dean the Doombringer!"

One by one the warriors begin to clash their swords against their shields, screaming "DEAN! DEAN! DEAN!" Soon the whole camp, including women and children chant his name. It all brings the old memories back of when his father's men were shouting his name, before John had marched to his final battle in Hallowfield.

Sam can't wait any longer. He runs forward and crushes his sibling into a bear hug.

"I'm so happy, Dean! Gods, I am so happy!" he mutters as he holds his brother in a vice-like grip.

"Me too Sammy, but I'd be grateful if you let go of me," Dean chuckles, voice muffled.

"Oh, yes, of course." Sam laughs, relieved.

"You should make a small speech and address your people." Magnus says as he approaches the brothers. "You need to make them believe in you, that you will be worthy as their leader."

"Of course." Dean clears his throat, clapping a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I will gladly do that."

He turns to face the camp, every member of Battle Shadows, who are staring at him in anticipation. Half of the work is done, judging by their looks, but he needs their full acceptance, recognition and support.

"My name is Dean Winchester and from today I shall be called Dean the Doombringer, sowing the seeds of fear into the hearts of our enemies. I am standing here to announce and promise to you that I shall do everything which is necessary to keep every single one of you happy and satisfied, and to make your lives easier. But to do this I will need your support, for I cannot do this alone. Together we can move mountains, dry the deepest seas and crush the thickest walls of unreachable towers on the highest hills. I swear on my dignity and honor that I shall finish what my father John the Slayer began. You will wander no more. Not when you'll forever have homes and rich, bountiful lands to work on. So, remain with me and together we shall prevail!"

Dean's speech is brief but filled with sincerity. The crowd feels it too and begins to chant his name over and over again.

"Looks like you gained their full trust." Magnus clears his throat beside him.

"I hope so." Dean grins widely, looking at his people fondly.

"So, what will be your first command, Chieftain?" Magnus asks, smiling slightly.

Dean turns around, his gaze falling on Sarrehdan's body. "Take this traitor outside and away from the camp and leave him for wild beasts to feast on his bones."

Magnus nods. "It will be done. Now, let me show you your tents."

The chief sorcerer leads the way with the brothers lagging behind. They both smile and wave at the excited and enthusiastic crowd while passing between them.

"So, what do we do now, Dean?" Sam asks quietly.

"We should rest for a while. Get to know these people better, see how they live, what they do and then make our next step." Dean puts a clean cloth against his still bleeding wound. Thank the gods, it's not too deep.

"Which is?" Sam stops, staring at his brother questioningly.

"Conquering Vali Isuria," Dean answers with a wink before catching up with Magnus.


	23. Chapter 23

Having fears about such a big responsibility as being the chieftain of seventeen thousand people, guiding them, keeping them fed, warm and safe was what had been nagging at Dean's mind in the beginning. He had not been sure how or what to do but with Sam's and Magnus's help he'd succeeded, and earned such enviable devotion and love from his people that it had made even him pleasantly surprised.

Three months after becoming the leader of Battle Shadows, Dean had followed his father's steps and chosen two seconds-in-command. One of course being his younger brother and the second person Addaem, a young man in his mid twenties, a strong warrior with a good amount of experience and skill. Together, the three of them would sit in Dean's tent, planning and discussing their strategies and next moves 'til late at night. Sometimes Magnus joined them with mugs full of minty, invigorating drinks, which helped the warriors keep a clear mind. Magnus had become very helpful to the young chieftain and Dean would forever be thankful for his dedication.

In accordance with Dean's plan they had started to attack the villages and small towns on the border of Vali Isuria. The small groups sent from the camp would creep in the night like deadly shadows and sneak up on towns or villages wrapped up in slumber, attacking them like a flash of lightning with fast maneuvers and terrifying force. Loaded with spoils, they would return to the camp with minimal losses.

Such little raids provided them with food or other needs but Dean knew that it was just a drop in the ocean. That was why he was saving all of his energy and strength for the main target: King Uldred's fortress.

And his persistence soon paid off.

Two weeks after the lunar eclipse in the month of Awakening, Dean Winchester aka Dean the Doombringer led his army of twelve thousand warriors along the carefully chosen and well-weighed route which would take them to the heart of the kingdom, Uldred's summer residence fortress.

* * *

**One Month Later, King Uldred's Fortress**

The freshly bandaged wound on a toned, muscular chest received in a recent battle still aches, but the hot water somehow subdues the pain. The strong arms and shoulders resting on the edge of the marble bathing pool become more and more relaxed as the water cradles and soothes their owner. Dark, thick brown hair falls down on the man's shoulders and sticks wetly to the delicate neck. He has very handsome features: full, faintly pink and slightly chapped lips, a straight nose and a strong jaw with a few days of stubble covering it. The man's eyes are closed in pure bliss as the steam and hot water drag him almost into sleep. But his peace is soon broken.

"Your Royal Highness," a servant says respectfully. "Your father wishes to see you. He's holding a meeting with his generals."

The bathing man's eyes open up slowly and the servant bows his head when the crystal-clear blue eyes land on his face.

The young man lets out a small groan of displeasure. "Alright, Nibul, tell him I will be there in a minute," he says in a deep, rumbling voice.

"Yes, Prince Castiel." Nibul nods and leaves the bathing room in hurry.

"What's the rush? Couldn't it wait for a little while?" The young prince keeps muttering quietly as he steps out of the bathing pool, drying his slender, muscular body with a big towel.

* * *

When Castiel enters the chamber used for urgent meetings he sees his father, Robert and two other generals sitting around the table with a big map of the kingdom unfolded on it. Uldred's hair and beard, like lord Robert's, have turned snowy white; merciless years have taken a toll on both of them.

"Castiel," Uldred meets his son with a small smile. "Please join us."

The young prince greets his father's and the kingdom's loyal servants warmly and takes his seat at the table. He takes a good look at them now when he's sitting and a small frown appears on his face. Looks like his father had a reason for this urgent meeting after all: all the men have worried expressions on their faces.

"What's happening?" Castiel asks, concerned. "Bad tidings again?"

Uldred sighs. "Yes, much worse than the last time. Gentlemen, please fill my son in on what happened while he was gone." The king looks at his generals.

"May I?" Robert asks for permission and after Uldred's nod, begins. "My Prince, while you were defending our eastern borders, the barbarians managed to take Moonstone, Silvercreek and Hallowfield." Robert taps his finger on the map, pointing at the mentioned towns. "They wreaked havoc, robbed and burned the towns. As we know their chieftain Dean the Doombringer is determined to conquer our whole kingdom. The messengers say the main troop, which he's leading himself, is marching here. It will not take too long 'til he reaches us."

Castiel purses his lips, frowning deeply. He does not like dreadful tidings. This doesn't look promising. "The eastern border is safe for now. Two nights ago we defeated their large group and forced them to retreat. I must admit that no one expected such savage and furious resistance from them, considering that our warriors are much better armed and disciplined. I left my best warriors to guard the border and came here to hear about the situation with the rest of the towns, as we had not received any words from your side."

"I apologize, my prince. It happened all so quickly that we were forced to throw our warriors to the attack zone. Due to the mass confusion we forgot to send a messenger to you," Robert says apologetically.

"It's alright, Lord Robert." Castiel smiles faintly at the man. He has a huge respect and love for this man, which is not surprising as he's grown up under Robert's eyes, constantly receiving useful advice, answers to his childish questions and of course almond cookies, which little Castiel adored so much. "So, what are our plans? Or do we have any?" The young man winces a little when the fabric of his expensive shirt rubs against his wound unpleasantly.

"We cannot defeat his army. We don't have as many warriors as he does. If we summon every capable man of this kingdom, we will still have fewer men than that barbarian. I've heard that he is so severe and strong that with a one strike of his sword he can kill a few rivals," the other general says sternly.

For a while no one says anything. The sad singing of a nightingale from the royal garden makes the tense and gloomy atmosphere even more depressing.

"So, what do you suggest? We just drop our weapons and surrender, hand over the kingdom to some wild barbarians for devastation and ruining?" Castiel throws a perplexed glance at his father, who looks sickly pale.

"We are working on solutions," the general mutters unconvincingly.

"Of course, and before we find any, we will have wolves at our gates," Castiel retorts ironically.

"Your Majesty," the second general, who'd been quiet till now, shifts on his seat. "I may have a suggestion, though I am not sure if you'll approve of it."

"Feel free to share it with us, Edgar," Uldred gestures the man tiredly. The light in his always kind and warm eyes has faded out, made them dull and saddened.

Edgar coughs awkwardly, clearing his throat. "I was thinking that as we cannot defeat this man in a battle, why don't we offer him a truce and benefits?"

"What do you mean?" Edgar's words draw Robert's attention. "What benefits?"

"King Uldred, what if we invite him to the fortress for negotiations. And here comes the important part. You could offer him an alliance, one of your daughters in marriage and some land, which they could use as they wish."

As soon as Edgar finishes talking, loud and agitated voices fill up the chamber.

"That is unacceptable!" Castiel exclaims. "I will not let you give one of my sisters to this horrific man!" the young man shouts angrily. "Also, none of them would agree to such merciless and cruel verdict!"

The buzzing, rumbling and heated discussions carry on for a while 'til Uldred bangs his fist on the table, glancing about the men at the table.

"Silence!" he rasps hoarsely, achieving it immediately. "I've made up my mind and the decision is final."

"Which is?" Castiel's piercing gaze falls upon his father's face.

"We will do as Edgar has suggested. We will send messengers to his camp and invite the man to the fortress, where I will offer one of your sisters in a marriage."

"But father…" Castiel rises from his seat but Uldred cuts him off.

"No buts, Castiel! If it helps saving the kingdom and our people's lives, then I shall do so!" Uldred says strictly. Then he turns to Robert. "Choose the messengers who will go to his camp. They should leave immediately. The meeting is over. You're dismissed. Castiel, you stay with me."

When the generals leave the chamber, Uldred turns to his silently fuming son. Castiel is shaking in rage and frustration and the realization that he can do nothing is making him crazy.

"I need you to come with me. I want to talk to your sisters and prepare them for what's to come." Uldred places his hand on the young man's shoulder, squeezing it weakly.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Castiel nods. "Alright, Father. I will come with you. But I don't think that you will achieve anything."

"We shall see my son, we shall see." Uldred shuffles towards the door.

Castiel follows his father slowly. He has never seen the leader of the barbaric tribe which threatens to invade their kingdom, but the young prince already hates him with his whole heart and soul.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're finally there, what you all have been waiting for ;)

Merry laughter, clear like the sonorous jingling of a bell, resonates in the corridor when Castiel and his father walk out of the chamber. It's coming from the young prince's eldest sister Hannaera's bedchamber. Uldred knocks on the door, presuming that all of his daughters are gathered in one room, and his guess is correct.

"Yes, please come in," Hannaera calls, still laughing.

The king and Castiel walk inside, stopping awkwardly after a few steps.

"Father? Brother? Has something happened?" Castiel's middle sister Annis asks. The game of Cat's Cradle is long forgotten when the maidens notice the pale faces on the men.

"Children, I must talk to you," Uldred begins, and Castiel feels immense pity towards his father. He knows how hard it will be for the king to forsake one of his offsprings for a horrible fate.

"Come, sit down," the youngest of maidens, Hestira, says, going to Uldred's side and helping him sit down on a chair. Without a word Castiel goes to stand beside him, throwing a concerned glance at his sisters who are sitting on the bed side by side and waiting for the king to start speaking.

"As you know, our kingdom is threatened by a numerous and savage tribe." Uldred clears his throat, gathering all of his courage to deliver a terrible tiding. "Our army is not sufficient to defeat them. Therefore… therefore at the council we discussed and decided that…" The king swallows hard, rubbing his face with a trembling hand.

"Decided what?" Hannaera asks impatiently.

"Hannaera," Castiel looks at her with a soft reprimand in his eyes. He's trying his best to soften a blow which his sisters are going to receive but he also wants to make it easier for his father.

Uldred heaves a huge and loud sigh. It's like his soul has left together with the air rushing out of his lungs.

"We have decided that one of you is to marry their chieftain, Dean the Doombringer," Uldred utters and closes his eyes.

"What?" Hannaera and Hestira ask simultaneously.

"No, no and no. I do not agree to this!" the eldest sister exclaims vehemently.

"Father, you cannot do this to us!" Hestira looks at her father pleadingly.

"Ladies, please calm down," Castiel asks his sisters, fearing that Uldred's heart may give out from all the stress.

"I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry, my lovelies. I wish there were another way we could save the kingdom and our people but alas..." Uldred groans like a wounded beast.

"Father wanted to tell and prepare you for what's to come. We are inviting him to the fortress where we will offer him an alliance. Also, we don't know who he will choose for his future wife," Castiel continues. "It could be any of you."

Hannaera and Hestira keep complaining, though more quietly now. Annis is the only one who's not participating in the compliants. She has a thorough concentration written all over her beautiful face. Brown-red locks fall down on her slender shoulders, accentuating the beauty of her long, white neck. Her big, blue eyes stare absently into the space before her and Castiel wonders what is it that she sees.

"I agree," she says suddenly.

"What?" Everyone turns to her in an unconcealed shock.

"I am willing to sacrifice myself if it helps the kingdom and saves our people," the girl says calmly.

"But… but how do you know that he will choose you?" Castiel almost chokes from overwhelming emotions. Annis has always been his favorite sister, always putting the others' interests before hers.

She shrugs. "I do not know, but I will do my best to get his attention and make him choose me."

"Are you not afraid?" Hestira asks, still frightened but somewhat relieved that her sister has volunteered.

"Of what? Of him? Yes, a little. For I do not know what awaits me. But if it's what Father wants and if it's necessary for the kingdom, I am willing to do it."

Uldred bolts up from the chair, grabbing his child and squeezing her into a crushing hug. It feels like he's saying goodbye to her, asking for forgiveness.

Without a word Castiel and his sisters hug their father and Annis. They stay like that for a few more minutes, 'til Uldred pulls back and places a chaste kiss on his daughter's forehead.

And Castiel is not sure if the tears running down his father's cheeks are the tears of relief or unbearable pain.

* * *

"Dean," Magnus calls from outside of the chieftain's tent. "Are you in there?"

"Yes, please come in!" Dean's voice sounds from the depths of the tent.

Magnus walks in, trying to see their chieftain in the dim light. He knows that Dean had been working hard helping the other men in the camp store the food and water and he needs to rest, but the matter is very urgent and important.

"I apologize for disturbing you." Magnus bows his head but after Dean gestures to him that it's alright and to continue, the man goes on. "You have two messengers waiting outside. King Uldred has sent them."

Dean gets up from his bed, quickly wrapping himself in an expensive silk gown of a blue sapphire color. "Let them in," he says.

Two armored warriors walk in, offering brief greetings.

Dean offers them two cups with cold, red wine and asks them to sit down.

"So, what have you brought for me? What does the king want?" Dean asks, taking his sit in front of the king's men.

"King Uldred has sent us to tell you that he's inviting you to the fortress for negotiations," one of the messengers says, taking a sip from his drink.

"Negotiations?" Dean arches his brow. "About what?" Of course the young man knows what it's all about but he wants to hear it from the king's men.

"We don't know," cuts in the second messenger. "The king just ordered us to come to your camp and tell you that he wants you to come to his summer residential fortress five days from now, where he will hold a feast in your honor and have negotiations."

Dean empties his cup, putting it on the table. It's not a big surprise for him that the king would ask for negotiations. He had already thought about it.

"Tell your king that I will be there after five days. But only one of you can go back, as the other one will stay with me to show the way when we depart for his fortress," Dean informs the messengers. "While Magnus shows you where you can rest and eat, you must decide who will leave tomorrow morning and who will stay here with me before we leave to meet the king."

The messengers nod and Magnus takes them to a spare tent, set for special occasions.

As soon as Dean is left alone, the young man begins to think and measure his questions and answers to possible inquiries which may arise at the negotiations.

* * *

King Uldred, Queen Nolween, Castiel, his three sisters, Lord Robert, and the hundred chosen warriors stand in front of the gates of the fortress, looking at the slowly approaching troop of barbarians and their Chieftain.

Dean looks stern and grim. The sun-tanned skin on his face makes his green eyes bright and alluring, like a wild beast's eyes in the darkness. His weapons glimmer blindingly from the rays of the sun. The young chieftain throws a glance at the waiting people at the gates.

Uldred makes a step forward when Dean and his warriors approach them and dismount their horses.

"Dean the Doombringer," the king begins. "I welcome you and your men to my fortress. Let me introduce you to my family and friends."

"I salute you, King Uldred," Dean says briefly and walks to the lined up people.

"This is my wife Queen Nolween," Uldred introduces his wife. "My son Castiel and my daughters Hannaera, Annis and Hestira. And my devoted general Lord Robert."

After brief nods Dean's eyes linger on the young prince's face. Castiel locks his gaze with the barbarian, with a firm intention not to look away. His tightly pursed lips twitch slightly and a muscle jumps in his jaw when Dean lets out a small snort.

"The young prince looks like he's about to burst. I suppose his belt is squeezing too tightly," Dean states mockingly. "Loosen it, Castiel before it's too late." He smirks at silently fuming prince.

Castiel's hand slides towards the hilt of his sword but Annis notices and quickly grabs it, stopping his brother from a reckless action.

"I hope you had a safe journey to our fortress and have not met any obstacles on your way?" she asks Dean sweetly, rewarding him with a gentle smile.

"You are very kind my lady, and clever too." Dean smiles lopsidedly, his gaze sliding from Annis's face to her hand, which is still grabbing Castiel's wrist. She turns pale when her little gesture does not go unnoticed by Dean. "As to your question, yes, we arrived safely," the young man tells her, showing that she does not need to worry.

"Dear guests, please come with us. You have spent many hours on the road and must be hungry." Uldred gestures them towards the gates. The host and the newcomers led by their chieftain go through the iron gates, walking towards the massive walls of the fortress. Dean can't help but smile slyly when he feels Castiel's piercing gaze, full of loathing at his back.

* * *

The magnificence of the fortress impresses Dean's warriors beyond belief; they gaze in awe, touch and sniff everything on their way. It's like nothing they've ever seen before. They have never imagined such luxury even in their dreams. Dean is impressed too, but he does not show it as enthusiastically as his warriors.

After a short tour about the fortress they enter the main feasting hall, where a huge table with various dishes and drinks awaits them. As the king, his family, suit and his guests take place, the sweetest melody played on harps and flutes fill up the chamber.

Dean's hungry warriors, unfamiliar with table manners, just grab their food with bare hands, stuffing their mouths, while laughing and joking, chugging their drinks with loud slurps and belches. Their chieftain does not seem to mind. Why would he, when he himself is busy with devouring a meat pie, licking and sucking his fingers covered in grease?

Castiel feels disgusted, spinning his fork in his hand. This farce makes him so nauseous. These barbarians and their arrogant leader, who by fate happens to have larger army than his father. Why should he tolerate their uncultured, filthy behaviors? If they cannot act civilized at a table, how can they have negotiations at all? As if reading his mind and only to intensify his rage and hatred, Dean smirks at the young prince and sucks all the juice from a chicken he's holding as loudly as he can. Castiel cringes and turns his head, dropping the fork on the plate.

Before anything else dramatic happens, Uldred shifts on his seat, expressing a wish to speak.

"I suppose you want to know why we invited you to the fortress, Dean?" the king begins.

"For negotiations, obviously," Dean answers boredly, without looking at the king.

"Um, yes, of course. And I am sure you would like to know the reason for this negations?"

"I think I know the reason." Finally Dean rewards the king with his glance. "Usually two sides have negotiations when one of the parties is in trouble, seeing that they stand no chance. Therefore, they try to negotiate with the other party. Now, I don't see myself being the one in trouble here. So it must be you. And if I'm correct you want to ask me to stop invading your land, while in exchange you will offer something. Am I correct, King Uldred?"

Somewhat puzzled by the barbarian's straightforwardness, Uldred loses his already shaken confidence but nevertheless continues.

"Yes. You are correct. We would like to offer you some favors if you stop invading, robbing and devastating my kingdom."

"I have a good reason not to stop," Dean responds. "Actually, two reasons. First of all, I am fulfilling my father's wish: trying to give a better future to my people, which includes a permanent living place and land. And second, my father was killed in Hallowfield and your army participated in the battle, so I have all rights to exact my revenge."

Before Uldred responds, Castiel rises from his seat, glaring daggers at Dean.

"Your father was an invader and you're just like him. He wanted a land that did not belong to him. Do not blame us for his death. We defended the helpless people." His low, rumbling voice sounds icy-cold in the chamber.

"It's easy for you to say," Dean stands up slowly. "You've never known hunger and cold in your life. Tell me young prince, have you ever heard your mother cry in distress when you lay in bed ill, with no food and medicine? Have you ever spent days under the pouring rain or killing sun without having a safe shelter and a roof above your head? I highly doubt that! And do not judge my father for trying to build a bright future for his people, for you have no right to do so!"

At this time there is a dead silence in the hall. Even the musicians have stopped playing, and Dean's words echo ominously.

"Tell me why I should tolerate you or your filthy men and their uncultured behavior in this fortress? Give me a reason why I should not kill you on the spot, where you stand?" Castiel growls, beginning to shake.

"Because, if you do so, my brother and the rest of the army will attack and raze your kingdom to the ground. Just as I have ordered them," Dean answers calmly.

"Enough," Uldred raises his hand. "Please, sit down. Both of you," the king says sharply. "We did not gather here for a fight. We wanted to find a solution for this problem."

Dean and Castiel both sit down reluctantly. Nolween stares at her son pleadingly, as if asking to control himself. Soon after, everyone returns to their food and the atmosphere little by little calms down.

"So, Dean." The king clears his throat, looking at the barbarian who's eating a chicken's leg and scratching his belly with a contented expression on his face. "To end this conflict, I am offering you one of my daughters in marriage, so we can become allies and good friends. Choose whichever you want." The king gestures to his three daughters, all maidens of rare beauty.

Dean belches loudly and pats his belly, causing loud laughter among his warriors. He takes a good look at the princesses, shifting his gaze from one to the other.

"I appreciate your offer, King Uldred, and I will accept it. Though I don't want any of your daughters," he says with a broad grin.

The king frowns. "I don't understand."

"I want him." Dean points at the young prince with his gnawed chicken's leg. "I'll have Castiel."

Castiel turns deathly pale. Nolween and her daughters gasp in shock. Robert and the other generals frown and exchange displeased glances.

"I beg your pardon?" Uldred blinks rapidly, thinking that he misheard something.

"I said, I do not want any of your daughters. I want Castiel," Dean repeats, spinning the cup in his hand.

"But… but he can't… we can't", Uldred mutters.

"And why is that?" Dean arches his brow.

"Marriage between two men is not allowed in my kingdom. It's not right," the king looks around for support.

"First of all, you are wrong. And then, who said that I want him for marriage?" Dean chuckles. "I just want him as my concubine."

It causes an uproar. Uldred's men jump up insulted by Dean's words, unsheathing their swords. The barbarians do not show fear either, standing up to defend their chieftain.

"You," Castiel hisses venomously, pointing at Dean. "How dare you! I am challenging you to a fight! Tomorrow at sunrise. In front of the fortress. As for now, you will get out of here before I change my mind and chop you into pieces!"

Dean sighs tiredly, obviously bored. He stands up, turning to the king and raging Castiel.

"I accept your challenge. And here are my words to you: If I lose, though I doubt that will happen, I will be dead and my brother will retreat, so you will never hear of him again. If and when I win, because I will win, you shall become my bed warmer. The king, your mother and sisters, and the whole suit and warriors will leave this fortress, handing it to me. They will be free to go wherever they desire. We will not follow them. As for you, I already have ideas of what I can do to you." The young chieftain snorts, causing another wave of laughter in his men.

Dean and his warriors leave the fortress and its dismayed inhabitants behind, vanishing into the darkness.

Somehow no one at the fortress notices how Uldred disappears from the feasting hall, locking himself into his chamber.

The king presses up against an oak door, slowly sliding down 'till he sits down on the floor. Uldred grabs his head with his hands and groans in pain as Bessabel's words, predicted twenty five years ago, resurface from his mind and hit the king like a calamitous hurricane.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update is planned on 26-th or 27-th of March.

**Chapter warnings: blood and violence!**

Uldred is still consumed with his bitter thoughts when there is a knock on the door and it opens up. Distressed and frightened, Nolween rushes in, approaching her husband.

"Uldred," she cries desperately. "We cannot let Castiel fight with that monster!"

"I know," the king mutters quietly. "It's too risky."

"Maybe we should talk to him and change his mind? Maybe we can find other way to solve this problem?"

"Other way? Like what?" The king heaves a sigh.

"I don't know. But maybe we can come up with the other solution. I will not be able to stand if something happens to my son." Nolween trembles as her eyes tear up.

"Our son," Uldred corrects her. "Do you think I want it?"

"No, of course not." The queen shakes her head. "I am scared, Uldred. I am so scared for our boy!" She hugs her husband, burying her face in his chest and sobs quietly.

"Hush, don't cry," Uldred sooths her, caressing his wife's silky hair, which smells of delicate rose petals.

"Please, let's go and talk to him," she pleads the king.

"Alright, but with only one condition." Uldred pulls away, looking into Nolween's eyes.

"What condition?" the queen frowns slightly.

"That you will stop crying," Uldred smiles at her, wiping away the tears from Nolween's face.

The queen nods silently. "Fine," she adds in a low voice.

"Good," Uldred plants a kiss on her forehead. "Let us go then."

* * *

The sweat is trickling down his spine as the rippling muscles on his chest and biceps are taut from fervent movements. The blade in his hand slashes fluently through the air with precise and skilled flicks of his wrist.

How dared he? How dared that filthy barbarian insult him and his family at their own fortress? Castiel snarls with anger, throwing another strike at an invisible enemy. That's when his father and mother enter the exercising hall.

The young man lowers the blade, turning towards his parents.

"Father, Mother, is there something wrong?" he asks, concern filling up his blue eyes.

The king and the queen nod simultaneously, approaching their son.

"We would like to talk to you about the upcoming fight," Uldred begins.

"There's nothing to talk about," Castiel retorts, feeling where this is going.

"There is," Nolween insists. "Darling, we do not want you to fight."

"What? I already challenged the man and you are asking me to act like a coward?" the young prince exclaims heatedly.

"Castiel, we can find another way." Uldred almost begs his son. "If it's necessary I will go to him and beg on my knees. I will offer him half of the kingdom, where he can do whatever he likes just to save you."

"Save me?" Castiel stares at his father incredulously. "Are you saying that you do not trust me, father? Are you saying that I am not skilled enough to fight with that Barbarian? That I'm nothing?"

Nolween cuts in hurriedly after hearing the sharp pain in her son's voice. "No, no, of course not, Castiel!" she assures him. "You are the best warrior our kingdom has, we just don't want to risk, my son. You are the heir of the throne. Do you think we will be able to live if something happens to you?" She cups her son's face, looking into his eyes pleadingly.

Castiel's rage disperses after hearing his mother's words. He's never been able to stay angry at her.

"You have nothing to worry about," the prince assures his parents. "This fight should not be any different or more difficult than the others which I've had in past. I am confident enough and all I ask you is to trust me. The fight shall be held tomorrow at sunrise as agreed and this is my final decision."

Castiel turns his back to them, raising the blade once again, showing his parents that the conversation is over and there is nothing left to discus. He can hear his mother's weeping when Uldred takes her out of the hall and something breaks in his heart. And no matter how hard he tries to concentrate on exercising he still fails. In the end Castiel simply drops the blade and sits down on the floor, leaning against a wall. Tomorrow will be a fatal day. At least for someone.

* * *

At the earliest light of the day the whole fortress swarms and begins to fuss as the sound of the horn announces the arrival of a new day. The crowing of roosters, barking of dogs, and neighing of horses are all mixed up with loud shouts and the thudding of heavy boots. It's a very special day: the day when Castiel has to fight with the leader of Battle Shadows.

Uldred, Nolween, their daughters, Lord Robert and Bessabel all watch Castiel intently, worrying about his fate. As for the young prince, he is calm as ever. There is no trace of anxiety, fear or uncertainty in his behavior or speech.

Castiel had refused to wear the royal gilded armor which he inherited from his father and had chosen simple but strong steel of a rusty-brown color. As he'd been putting on arm bracers and greaves, Uldred, adapted to the fact that no force could make Castiel change his mind, handed his son the sword – The Devastator – once owned by Castiel's great grandfather, a loyal and unfailing servant of its owner.

Nolween and her daughters hug Castiel tightly, never wanting to let go. When the young prince frees himself from their embraces Bessabel puts his hand on the young man's head, mumbling foreign words, thus blessing and wishing him good luck.

* * *

The skies above are painted crimson with a bit of amber color in them. It seems like the gods have built an immense fire and the sparks will rain down, setting the human world ablaze.

The massive gates of the fortress open up and Castiel, together with the chosen hundred warriors, walk out. The king had threatened to do something awful had his son refused to take the warriors with him. Uldred knew well enough that those men wouldn't be of much help as only his son would fight, but still, it was some kind of a relief, knowing that there would be hundred warriors standing and watching the fight, ready should anything unexpected happen.

The chieftain of Battle Shadows is already there, waiting for his rival. Sam and a large group of his army are beside him. The younger Winchester is still stunned after hearing what his brother had demanded. He knows that Dean always liked pretty boys but to ask for the heir of the throne as his concubine is pure madness.

Castiel and his warriors stop when there's only thirty feet left between them and Dean.

"I see you are brave enough to face me and not run off," Dean smirks, throwing an amused look at Castiel. "What a courageous little soldier you are."

"I never break my word and I've come to end this nonsense once and for all. You have insulted me and my family at our own fortress with your impudence and arrogance. Prepare to die horribly, as this is the kind of death a filthy animal like you deserves," Castiel spits out.

"You are quick tempered and hot-blooded. I like it. I wonder if you're like this in bed too. I guess we shall find out soon." Dean chuckles and his warriors begin to burst into laughter behind his back. Sam just shifts awkwardly, feeling sympathy for the Vali Isuria's prince. The younger Winchester is more than sure that Castiel has no chance against his brother but seeing the young prince's face lose color from his brother's merciless taunting makes his heart wrench.

"Dean," Sam reprimands quietly. "Stop it."

"Oh, Sammy. Always with the soft heart," Dean rolls his eyes. "What, pitying the heir of the throne? Calm down, I am not going to kill him. Or maybe I will but in a different way." Dean snorts and takes off his cape with wolf's fur, throwing it at his brother. "Save your sympathies for later. When I capture him."

Dean steps forward with a shield and sword in his hand, studying his rival with a careful glance. Castiel throws a brief look at the walls of the fortress where his whole family and suit are sanding, watching the fight with utter fear and alarm.

"Are you ready to be mine, young prince? Do you surrender to my charms?" Dean asks playfully.

"Never. I prefer to die in this instant than to satisfy your dirty desires. I loathe you with my whole heart," Castiel growls low and dangerously. His eyes flash like stormy seas.

Dean clicks his tongue. "Those are not the words you will be moaning beneath me."

Castiel has had enough of Dean's teasing and with a mighty war cry he charges first. As if waiting for such reaction, not a single muscle moves on Dean's face. With an enviable calmness he blocks Castiel's strikes, looking unnerved and composed as never. The chieftain of Battle Shadows barely moves from the spot. It's like he's playing with the young prince, like a cat tossing around a mouse before eating it. Castiel feels the mocking and grits his teeth. His attack gets more forceful and determined. One of such attacks bears its fruit: the tip of Castiel's sword, swooshing through the air, slashes a cut on Dean's cheek.

"Hmm, a puppy showed its teeth," Dean smirks, wiping the blood off of his cheek with his thumb. "But the master always teaches the silly puppy how to behave."

As the wind blows, stirring the hair and cloaks of the spectators, Dean lunges forward, bringing his sword down on Castiel with such a mighty and brutal force that the prince of Vali Isuria needs to use all of his strength and skills to parry his rival's onslaught.

As they circle each other, trying to find weak spots, from one of the Dean's attacks Castiel trips over a large stone, kneeling on one knee and barely has time to raise his shield. Dean's sword comes crashing down on it, rattling the steel, leaving unpleasant ringing in Castiel's ears.

"Get up, I don't fight the fallen." Dean turns around, stepping away from Castiel.

"I don't need your mercy," Castiel says proudly, standing up and ready to continue.

As the fight goes on, the scales tip into Dean's favor; he's more experienced in battles and physically stronger. A sudden and unexpected kick in the stomach sends Castiel flying back and he thuds to the ground painfully. The shield falls out of his hand and Dean's foot sends it aside, out of the prince's reach. But Castiel quickly gets up, grabbing his sword with two hands, breathing heavily. His eyes measure Dean's every movement, calculating his possible next move. But nothing can prepare him for what's to come next: the barbarian's next strike smashes his sword into pieces. There are frightened shouts from the fortress as they witness the scene. Castiel frowns, looking down at the broken sword in his hand, the hilt to be precise. His shield is far away, his sword is broken and he's facing the man he hates with bare hands.

"Looks like the fate itself wants you to be mine," Dean says smugly. "Yield to me, little prince and I promise I won't hurt you." He smirks at the confused man.

Castiel swallows hard. There is no way he will agree to what Dean wants from him.

"You can go to the deepest pits of Underworld. What are you waiting for? Kill me, you son of a whore!"

All the blood and playful expression drains from Dean's face after hearing Castiel's last words. The amused look quickly changes into a stone cold killer's one. There is a fury, wrath and unruly rage behind his blazing emerald eyes.

Sam knows this look and he gasps; it does not mean anything good for his brother's rival. But before he can do anything, Dean throws his shield and sword aside, quickly approaching Castiel and grabbing him by the throat.

"Do Not Dare To Talk About My Mother Like That!" he yells into Castiel's face, accentuating every word, while his fist beats the prince in the face unceasingly.

After a few punches Castiel's nose and lips break, blood pouring out. He tries to remove Dean's hand from his throat but it feels like an iron vice. Castiel's mind and vision is getting cloudy from the barbarian's punches and the lack of oxygen when in the mass hysteria and shouts around them he clearly hears an earsplitting scream before he sinks into the black abyss.

Dean's raised fist which is ready to connect with Castiel's face one more time freezes in the air, when someone wraps themselves around his legs.

The chieftain of Battle Shadows looks down and sees Nolween at his feet. Dean swallows a lump in his throat when the woman raises her head.

"Please, spare my son's life. Take mine instead." She stares at him while tears are streaming down her face.

After a moment's hesitation Dean lowers his hand and lets go of Castiel. The young prince falls down on the ground, unconscious.

Dean wraps his hand around the queen's forearm. "My lady, stand up," he says hoarsely, helping Nolween to her feet.

As soon as she's up, the queen rushes to her son's side, cradling his face in her hands and sobbing over Castiel's unconscious body. She cleans the blood from his face, showering Castiel's forehead and cheeks with kisses.

Witnessing the tender moment between the mother and her son, Dean feels something tug painfully at his heart but he quickly comes to and turns around to face the walls of the fortress.

"As you can see I have won. According to our agreement you are to leave the fortress and go wherever you like. Castiel is my captive and is to stay at this fortress. As the gesture of my generosity I am allowing you to leave someone with him, who is willing to help the prince. Decide who that person will be." Dean's voice booms in the distance.

When no one answers him, Dean goes back to Castiel's body. He easily picks up the younger man's limp body, throwing it over the shoulder.

"Go to your family, Queen Nolween. They need you," he tells the distressed woman, while walking away with her son's body.

"Let's go!" Dean yells over his shoulder to his people. "This fortress is ours now!"

The skies above turn dark and ominous. The scarlet clouds gather and swell, ready to rip apart, so the rain of blood can flood the ground. A lonesome eagle flies above the group of people walking towards the gates of the fortress, cawing pitifully, as if crying over someone's fate. Or Castiel's fate…


	26. Chapter 26

If anyone ever asked Uldred what his worst nightmare was, he would definitely choose this moment, when he's watching his son fight against the ruthless leader of the numerous nomadic tribe which has come to ruin his kingdom. The king of Vali Isuria would give his right hand just to avoid the horrible disaster which is about to happen. To Castiel's honor, it needs to be said that the young prince is a worthy rival to the chieftain of Battle Shadows, but the barbarian is much stronger and more experienced.

Uldred reels and his ears begin to ring when Dean's brutal strike shatters The Devastator into pieces, leaving his son without a weapon. He hears distant screams and shouts around him, but the king's frozen gaze is glued to Castiel, who looks tired but unyielding. Uldred sees that Castiel tells Dean something, which causes a dramatic change in the barbarian. Dean throws his weapons aside and grabs the heir of the throne by his neck.

Uldred feels a sharp and sudden pain in his heart. It's so strong that the king can't breathe. The man slides down the wall, clutching at his chest. In the mass chaos and hysteria, someone calls him.

"Your majesty," Bessabel kneels beside him. "Are you alright?"

Uldred opens and closes his mouth, desperately trying to inhale. "Tell me…" he wheezes. "Tell me that he will not die."

"I…" Bessabel begins but the king is already unconscious, lying on the cold floor.

In the next second Castiel's sisters kneel beside their parent, weeping their hearts out, slapping their father in the face.

"Father, please wake up," the maidens cry out in distress.

Bessabel fumbles in the pocket of his gown, pulling out a small vial and gives it to Annis. "Here, let him inhale this."

The sorcerer leaves the royal family behind his back, turning towards the main event. He frowns deeply when he notices Queen Nolween at the barbarian's feet. The battered, bloody and beaten prince is lying on the ground. Bessabel's hands grab the sharp edge of the wall, watching the scene with utter alarm, but soon enough he makes a small sound of relief when Dean helps the woman to her feet.

The sorcerer is about to turn to the king when Dean speaks up, his voice echoing in the distance:

"As you can see I have won. According to our agreement you are to leave the fortress and go wherever you like. Castiel is my captive and is to stay at this fortress. As the gesture of my generosity I am allowing you to leave someone with him who is willing to help the prince. Decide who that person will be."

Bessabel watches how Dean literally plucks the unconscious prince's body from his mother's hands, throwing him over the shoulder and ordering his men to follow him.

"Bessabel," Uldred's hoarse voice draws him out of his thoughts.

"Yes, My King," the sorcerer goes to the suffering man immediately.

"What should we do?" Uldred sounds so lost and defeated that the former slave feels immense pity for his king.

"Dean is allowing us to leave someone with Castiel," Bessabel says.

"That should be me or Nolween," Uldred pants, trying to sit up.

"No, Sire." Bessabel shakes his head. "I will stay with Castiel."

"You?"

"Yes. I am a healer in the first place then all the rest," Bessabel smiles bitterly. "Treating the wounds, that's what Castiel needs the most right now. If you or the Queen stay with the heir of the throne, I'm afraid you won't be much of help to him. Go to your Adamite Castle in Silent Valley, Your Majesty. You and your family will be safe there. Meanwhile, I will make sure that the prince recovers fast from his injuries."

Uldred squeezes the sorcerer's hand, showing his silent gratitude. It feels like a huge stone has fallen off of his chest, knowing that Bessabel will stay with his son. The trust the king has had in him before now increases twice as much.

"It's not the injuries that worry me, Bessabel," Uldred says quietly, looking at his daughters who are meeting Nolween in their way.

Bessabel falls silent, knowing too well what the king means. What can he tell a desperate parent, what words of consolation should he choose? There is literally nothing that could give Uldred or his family relief. Not when his son in the hands of a barbarian, which no one knows when or how will humiliate the heir of the throne.

* * *

Dean gives the king, his family and the suit an hour to gather all the necessary things to take with them. Castiel is taken to the dungeon in the basement, still unconscious and locked in a dark and cold cell. The only light seeping in the cell is from a torch in the corridor. The older Winchester snorts ironically when he looks down at Castiel's face. There's a small trace of dried blood on his lips, which Nolween forgot to wipe off.

"Foolish boy," grumbles the chieftain of Battle Shadows. "Your delicate fingers are not made for sword holding, poor boaster."

When Dean walks up from the dungeon, Uldred and his family are in the courtyard, ready to depart.

"I hope you have no hard feelings towards me, King Uldred," Dean grins. "Everything was done fairly. "

"Dean," Uldred tries to use his last chance. "If you return my son to me, I will…"

"No," Dean shakes his head before the king even finishes his offer. "All was done according to your son's wish. He wanted to fight with me and he lost. Don't make it harder, King Uldred."

The man swallows hard, feeling the last remains of hope shatter. Nolween stands beside her husband, grabbing the man's arm, supporting him so that the king does not fall. She throws a pleading glance at the young barbarian.

"I am not intending to kill your son, Queen Nolween." Dean guesses her thoughts. "I give you my word."

She gives him a bitter smile and nods.

"So, have you thought who will stay with Castiel?" Dean asks, contemplating Uldred's suit.

"Yes. We have," Uldred mutters. "It's him." The king gestures at Bessabel and the sorcerer steps forward, bowing his head.

"And who would you be?" Dean arches his brow.

"My name is Bessabel. I am a healer, My Lo-"

"Call me Dean," the older Winchester interrupts the man. "Well, I suppose we've cleared everything. I will keep my word and no one will follow you. You can travel safely to wherever you're going. Farewell, King Uldred," Dean announces, showing that the time has come for the king to leave.

He turns around and walks inside the fortress, not interested in what may happen in the yard. If anything unexpected comes up, his warriors can easily take care of it. Though he doubts that Uldred will dare to attempt anything.

"Dean," the green-eyed barbarian hears his brother's voice behind his back.

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean turns to face his younger sibling.

"Are you… are you really planning to abuse Castiel?" Sam asks, bewildered.

Dean is not ready for such question and it catches him off guard. The man is quiet for a while and it begins to disturb Sam.

"Answer me," Sam growls.

"He is my captive and I will do whatever I want with him. But while he's in this half-alive state I won't touch him. You can relax and start breathing," Dean hisses through his teeth, feeling a sudden anger.

Before Sam says anything Bessabel's voice reaches them.

"Dean," the sorcerer calls. "I would like to ask for your permission."

"What permission?" the man grumbles, already knowing what it will be.

"Please, allow me to treat the prince's wounds." Bessabel lowers his gaze.

Neighing and clattering of hooves sounds from the courtyard, a sign that the king's suit is leaving. When all the noise subdues, Dean lets out a loud huff.

"Alright. But only after you help me accommodate all my people and show me around the fortress. You are the only one who knows this place well."

"Yes, of course," Bessabel agrees. "I will gladly do that."

Dean chuckles, clapping the sorcerer on the shoulder. "I already like you. If you serve me well, I think we could become good friends."

Bessabel smiles. "That would be an honor."

"Good. Now help me with my request and then you are free to visit my little captive." Dean laughs heartily, walking in the long corridor, admiring the magnificence of the fortress.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter warnings** : a brief non-con kiss, some groping. Also, drunk Dean acting like a total dick (trying to force Cas to do something. Don't worry it does not happen).

And no, it will not turn into a non-con story. This is the last time Dean tries to do such thing.

 

*** 

Dean chooses two hundred warriors, including Sam and Magnus, who will permanently stay at the fortress. All the rest of his army and their families set the camp on a vast plain at the foot of a hill. It's not too far from the fortress and if necessity arises, the warriors can reach the fortress in no time, thanks to their quick-footed stallions.

The ground is rich and easy to cultivate and it promises a good harvest. The people are more than happy, praising their chieftain for giving them something which they've never had before. Their ultimate dream has come true. Dean truly must have been chosen by the gods and earned their favor, as the higher forces seemed to help him greatly in his ventures. Every single member of Battle Shadows would value Dean the Doombringer's name till their last breath.

The first order Dean had issued for his army was not to disturb and frighten the locals and to keep away from them, but in case of an encounter to act friendly and not cause any trouble. The young chieftain's followers were happy to oblige. No one wanted any problems; they had far more important things to do and building strong, comfortable huts was their first priority.

* * *

After helping Dean with his request, Bessabel goes down into the dungeon to see the young prince and assess his condition.

Castiel is lying in the straw, emitting pained groans as his hands twitch and eyes move from side to side behind the closed eyelids. There is a trickle of drool stretching from the corner of his mouth. Seems like the prince's state is worse than it was expected.

Bessabel kneels beside the young man, sliding one hand under Castiel's shoulder blades and helps him sit up.

"Your Royal Highness," the man calls gently. His hand removes the sweaty dark locks from Castiel's forehead.

The prince moans, opening his eyes with a big effort. His gaze is unfocused and blurred.

"Where… where am I?" Castiel wheezes out.

"You are at the fortress," Bessabel responds. "But I am afraid not in your apartments."

"Am I…" Castiel wants to ask but suddenly he rolls onto his side and retches. His stomach twists and churns, trying to empty itself but nothing comes out and it's painful. He feels like his insides are on fire, ripping apart. The young man's balled fists turn white and Castiel's whole body shakes in tremors as his head threatens to burst from unbearable pain.

"You need to rest, my prince. You must lie down," Bessabel says worriedly. He knows these symptoms too well.

"What is happening to me?" Castiel pants, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Am I dying?"

"No, of course not," Bessabel hurries to assure him as he helps the young man lie down. "You're suffering from a light form of concussion. I am afraid that Dean punched you quite strongly."

"Dean…" Castiel hisses at hearing his enemy's name. "Did he throw me into this rat hole?" His eyes roam about the cell, taking in all the details.

The sorcerer nods silently while putting the ice wrapped in a clean cloth on Castiel's forehead. "You lost the fight. I'm so sorry," the man says quietly.

Castiel does not respond. The flashbacks of the fight run before his eyes. He swallows hard as his hand grabs the handful of straw.

"What happened to my family? Are they safe?" the prince asks after a while. He's more concerned about them than he is about himself.

"Do not worry about them." Bessabel cleans Castiel's face, removing the spit, sweat and dried blood. "They are safe and went to Adamite Castle."

"But what if they've been followed and slaughtered?" Castiel exclaims, trying to sit up but the sorcerer's hand holds him in place.

"No, Dean promised your father that no one would harm them."

"And you trust this barbarian?" Castiel cries out angrily.

"Do I have a choice?" Bessabel retorts.

"What game are you playing, Bessabel?" the prince squints, looking at the former slave suspiciously.

"No games, my prince," the man sighs. "I'm just doing everything that I can to help and protect you. Even if it means becoming best friends with the enemy against my wish."

There is a stretched silence in the cell while the young man tries to fathom the meaning of the words he's just heard.

"I am sorry," Castiel mumbles, feeling embarrassed for doubting his only aid's motives. "I did not want to hurt your feelings."

"Don't apologize, My Prince. It's alright," Bessabel smiles. "Here, drink this. It will help you recover fast." The sorcerer hands him a bowl full of a yellowish liquid, which smells of mint. Without any questions Castiel takes it and drinks with slow gulps.

"Now, try to relax and keep the ice on your forehead for a little longer. My medicine will do the rest. You should feel much better by tomorrow evening." The sorcerer takes the empty bowl from the captive's hand and wants to say something, when there are sounds of footsteps and a guard appears in front of metal bars of the cell.

"Here," he throws a brief remark, sliding something into the cell. "From Dean."

Both Castiel's and Bessabel's looks fall down on a cup of water and a slice of bread. The sorcerer feels a painful pang in his heart. No one should be treated like this. Especially Castiel. He's of royal blood! Dean should treat him with more respect and not with such mockery and humiliation.

Before Bessabel speaks or reacts somehow, Castiel stands up and makes a few wobbly steps towards the metal bars where the guard stands.

"My Prince," Bessabel cries out worriedly but Castiel's raised hand stops him from further remarks.

The prince of Vali Isuria bends down and picks the cup and bread.

"From Dean you say?" he tilts his head, looking at the guard who nods silently.

Castiel turns the cup upside down, emptying it from the water, while locking his gaze with the man who looks a little surprised. The prince puts his hands through the bars, shoving the empty cup and bread into the guard's hands and leans forward 'till his face presses against the cold metal.

"Your chieftain can shove these things up into one place. I think he can guess where exactly," the young man growls low, as his blue eyes flash wrath and fury.

"You are insane," the guard says in disbelief as he walks away with a surprised whistle.

"I apologize for this but I think you made a mistake, My Prince," Bessabel mutters quietly.

"Do you think I will tolerate how he treats me?" Castiel spins around, a bit quickly and instantly feels dizzy. He grabs the bar for balance. "He is a terrible man and I do not intend to play by his rules." Castiel spits as he walks towards the sorcerer. "This is temporary. I will find a way to get out. I will figure it out and then you will come with me, so we can reunite with my family." Castiel stops his heated speech and sits down on straw.

"That will only put your family into danger. If you manage to escape, Dean will turn the hills upside down, uproot the trees and still find you and I do not think he will be merciful towards your family once again." Bessabel heaves a sigh beside the young man.

"Then what do you suggest?" Castiel asks, as he adjusts the ice on his forehead.

"For now? Get some rest and brush the worrisome thoughts away. We will think of something and time will tell. It will give us hints of what can be done." The sorcerer stands up, gathering his stuff. "Sleep now, My Prince. Don't exhaust yourself," Bessabel tells the heir of the throne before calling for the guard to let him out of the cell.

"The chieftain wants to see you," the man tells him as they leave Castiel's cell behind. "And urgently."

"Of course," Bessabel responds briefly, wondering what the green-eyed barbarian's inquiry will be this time.

* * *

"So, how's our fragile prince doing?" Dean asks straightforward as Bessabel walks into the hall, where Dean is sprawled out on Uldred's throne with his thighs spread wide.

"He's suffering from concussion. The injuries he's received are quite serious and it will take a long time 'til he recovers." Bessabel clears his throat, trying to sound more convincing.

"But that did not stop him from refusing the water and bread I sent him." Dean smirks lopsidedly. "Or from making a suggestion of what I should with these."

Bessabel's gaze falls down on a cup Dean is spinning in his hand and bread crumbs at his feet. It's the same cup the barbarian had sent for Castiel with the water in it.

"I…" the sorcerer begins but Dean cuts him off, gesturing him to be silent.

"I understand," Dean begins, as he walks towards the man. "You are trying to protect your prince from me, exaggerating things to buy as much time as possible but…" he leans towards Bessabel's ear, hissing venomously. "If you lie to me once again, I will make you pay dearly for it."

Dean steps back, looking at the sorcerer's stone-cold face. There is not even a muscle twitching on the man's face. Just a bead of sweat above his brow is the only sign of his worry and concern.

"Go now. Leave me alone," Dean waves him off, heading back to the throne.

"Yes, My Lord." Bessabel bows his head and leaves the hall as his mind screams in agony and desperation. The danger is coming for Castiel and he feels helpless.

* * *

For the next two days and to Bessabel's immense distress Castiel plays stubborn, refusing the scanty offerings Dean sends him, drinking only the healing liquid brought by the sorcerer.

It's late at night and Castiel is sunk into dreamless sleep when the keys turn and the door of his cell creaks open. The young prince rubs his eyes to look at the late visitor and barely suppresses a gasp when he sees none other than Dean towering above him. The chieftain of Battle Shadows looks like he's had more than enough of drink as he sways a little with a dangerous smirk on his lips. He's still holding a jug of wine in his left hand.

"Oh, you are awake." Dean grins, taking a gulp from the jug before throwing the empty pottery aside, crushing it against the wall.

"What do you want?" Castiel grits his teeth as he stands up to face his captor.

"What do I want?" Dean clicks his tongue. "Many things, Cas," he chuckles darkly. "But first of all, I want to know why you refused the water and bread I sent to you?"

"I do not need your piteous attempt at mercy or whatever it is." Castiel jerks his chin up proudly, hatred twitching on his lips.

"Is that so?" Dean lets out a low purr, rumbling in his chest. His facial expression turns into a predatory one, with narrowed eyes.

"Yes, it is," the captive responds with enviable determination, not faltering even for a second.

"What a pity," Dean licks his lips. "Sooner or later you will accept them as you will spend many days locked in here, satisfying my desires whenever and however I want and you will need a lot of strength for it."

Before Castiel retorts with another remark, Dean's left hand slides into the prince's hair grabbing the handful of dark locks, while the other hand grips Castiel's hip, squeezing it hard and pressing him flushed against his body.

"How dare…" Castiel's indignant cry dies out when Dean attacks his mouth, confusing the man for a second. When the prince's mind registers what's happening he plants both of his hands on Dean's chest pushing him violently away, breaking the kiss and spits into the barbarian's face while his eyes cast thunder and chest heaves in labored breathing.

Dean's first instinct is to punch Castiel but in the last second he recalls what his fist has brought to his captive and changes his mind. Instead he wipes his face with his hand, looking at the younger man with a look that sends unwilling chills down Castiel's spine.

"You shouldn't have done that," Dean smirks as he grabs the brunet's shirt and drags him to the nearest wall. He twists Castiel's hands behind his back and holds his wrists with one hand, while his free hand begins to unlace his trousers.

"What…what are you doing?" Castiel's eyes go wide as he witnesses the scene before him, while he desperately tries to break from Dean's deathly grip.

"You are going to suck me off. Nice and slow. That's what's going to happen, my pretty prince," Dean growls, as he keeps struggling with his trousers.

"No. That will not happen," Castiel says so calmly that Dean stops for a second, giving him a puzzled look.

"Not going to happen?" The barbarian laughs. "If you have not noticed, I am the one in charge here. And you will do as I tell you!"

"Dean Winchester," the prince of Vali Isuria looks the man in front of him in the eyes. "If you try to put your cock in to my mouth forcefully, I swear to all the gods that I will bite it off."

There is a shadow of a slight doubt and fear in the green eyes of the chieftain of Battle Shadows. His hand instinctively covers up his crotch. "You wouldn't dare." He lets out an uncertain laugh. "And if you tried, I would knock your teeth out."

"I can live without a few teeth, while you'd bleed to death and die in shame," Castiel snarks. "But then, even if you'd ordered to kill me I wouldn't care because you would never break my soul."

Something snaps in Dean's mind and he lets go of Castiel's wrists, stepping away from the trapped man. His look lingers on the prince's face, noticing deadly determination on his handsome features.

"This is not over," Dean warns him. "You just made the beast angrier."

Dean kicks the piece of the broken jug away as he walks to the door of Castiel's cell. He throws one unreadable gaze at his prisoner before going out, leaving the blue-eyed man and the guard behind.

He will find a way to break Castiel. Oh, yes he will!

He smiles smugly to himself as his long cape flaps behind his back from a sudden breeze like a banner of victory.


	28. Chapter 28

The sweet taste of Castiel's lips lingers on Dean's mouth as he walks out of the dungeon. Furtively, hidden from curious eyes, the young man touches his lips with fingertips. Despite Castiel's weakened state, he had shown that he could still defend himself and as proof had left quite a painful bite on Dean's bottom lip, which had swollen by the time the young chieftain walked out of the cell.

"You will be mine, Castiel. No matter how much time passes, in the end you will be mine. I can be very patient." Dean smiles to himself.

With a stagger he heads to Castiel's chamber, which he ironically occupies now. Dean falls face down in bed, inhaling the scent of the previous owner, which is still maintained on the pillow.

"I will find a way," the young barbarian mutters, half asleep. "I prom…" His soft snores fill up the chamber.

* * *

Next morning Dean wakes up with a bursting headache and groans painfully. His head is splitting and there is a feeling that hundreds of hammers are nailing his brain. Magnus' mixture does not help soothe the pain. Frustrated and angry as all demons of the Underworld, Dean leaves the bedchamber, walking out on the veranda in hopes that fresh air may help a little.

"Good morning, Dean. You look terrible. What happened?" Magnus greets him, already standing there, taking in a pleasant view from the fortress.

"I have a terrible headache and your mixture is not helping." Dean complains. His voice is hoarse from excessive drinking from last night.

"Oh," Magnus lets out a surprised sound. "I can prepare a stronger one if you give me some time," he offers. "But I will have to go to the woods to gather some ingredients."

"No, it's alright. I need you here. I must discuss something with you," Dean tells him and hisses when another wave of pain hits him.

"My Lord, are you alright?" a voice from below sounds, and the young chieftain looks down. Bessabel is in the garden, watering flowers and looking up at him.

"Um, no, not really. Do you have something for a strong headache?" Dean remembers that the man is a healer.

"Of course," Bessabel nods. "Would you like me to bring it?"

"Yes. And hurry up before I die from this fucking pain," Dean moans bitterly, massaging his temples.

Bessabel nods and leaves the garden to bring the medicine.

Neither Dean nor Bessabel notice a very displeased look on Magnus' face. The man's expression is sour and indignant. It's like his pride just has been stomped and insulted.

"I was thinking to disguise ourselves and walk amongst the locals, talk to them and find out what they think about me," Dean speaks. "I want you to come with me tonight."

"Of course," Magnus gathers all of his willpower to sound relaxed. "I will gladly come with you."

"I think it may give us something useful. Who knows what interesting stories we may hear?" Dean sits down in the armchair near the banisters. He lets out a sigh of relief, seeing Bessabel with a cup in his hand. "Oh thank the gods, you're back."

"This will take the pain away. Drink all of it, in slow gulps and you will feel the effect in a few minutes," Bessabel says gently, handing the cup to the young barbarian.

"Thank you, Bessabel," Dean gives him a pained smile, taking the cup out of his hands.

As the healer told him, he really feels the effect as the minutes pass. Step by step the pain vanishes, making Dean's mind clear. And he feels alive again.

"Oh, wow," he exclaims in disbelief. "You are truly something special, Bessabel," Dean chuckles. "As a reward, you can ask for a favor. What would you like?"

The former slave shifts awkwardly.

As if feeling his inconvenience, Dean turns to Magnus. "You are free to go. I will talk to you later and we will discuss the details then."

Magnus bows and leaves them alone.

"So," Dean continues. "What is it that you want to ask for?"

"I do not want anything for myself," Bessabel begins.

"Of course," Dean laughs. "You want to ask something for your pretty prince. What is it?"

"Castiel is in a weakened state and he needs decent food. I am afraid his body will give up if he continues starving." Bessabel lowers his gaze.

"But he refuses to accept the bread and water I send him," Dean frowns.

"That is true," Bessabel agrees. "But please let me take him food. I will make sure to convince him that it's not from you, while you can continue sending him the bread and water."

Dean throws his head back and laughs. The pleasant timbre of his voice resounds off the walls.

"Lying to your prince?" He winks at the man.

"If it helps him, yes." Bessabel blushes, fidgeting slightly.

"Alright, alright," Dean keeps grinning. "You have my permission. You can take any food you want. But don't make him fat. I prefer a slim, toned body, just like he has now." He winks at the healer.

"Thank you, My Lord," Bessabel says quietly, preferring not to pay attention to Dean's last words.

"Dean, I told you to call me Dean."

"Yes, right. Dean." Bessabel nods with a small smile. "Thank you so much for your kindness."

"Alright, this is getting sentimental. Leave me now," the young man chuckles, waving him off.

As soon as Bessabel goes, Dean sinks into his thoughts, wondering what to do with the captured prince whom he keeps in the dungeon.

* * *

Dean was thinking about taking Sam with him too but then had realized that such a tall man as his brother wouldn't have been left unnoticed on the day when they took the fortress, therefore the older Winchester decided not to risk it. Plus, Sam volunteered to help the people at the hills with their building work.

As the night approaches and twilight falls, Dean and Magnus take off their expensive clothes, putting on the shredded, old clothing instead.

"You still need to be very careful, Dean. A lot of people may have noticed and remember your face," Magnus tells him.

"Not to worry," Dean assures the sorcerer as he wraps the hooded cloak more tightly around himself. It hides his face well. "Let's go."

When they go through the gates of the fortress Dean suggests they walk down the river. The distant noise of cattle, clucking of chickens, excited yelping of dogs, meowing of cats, hearty laughter and loud talking tell Dean how lively this place is.

The young man stops near an old poplar tree, covered in moss to listen to a flute sounding from nearby. Small white and blue flowers have grown and blossomed around the tree, forming a small circle. Dean raises his head when he hears a loud chirping from above. Seems like the birds have built a nest in the branches. Magnus does not say anything, just lets his chieftain have a moment. They resume walking soon after the flute finishes its song.

"I want to go to a random house and pretend that we are travelers," Dean speaks. "I need to know what these people think about us. About me."

After a while they approach a small hut. There is a delicious smell coming out of it making the two men's mouth water.

Magnus knocks on the door after a silent nod from Dean.

The door opens up a few knock later and a young woman peeks out. "Yes? How may I help you?"

"Good evening. My companion and I are travelers, heading to the shrine of fertility. May we rest at your house, asking for food and water before we resume our journey?" Magnus asks gently.

"Oh, of course. Please come in," an old man from behind the woman's back says. "We are always happy to see guests."

There is a deer roasting in the middle of the house, filling the room with mouthwatering smell. Grease is dripping in the fire, making it crack and hiss.

"Please take a seat at the fire until supper is ready," the man tells his guests. "My name is Flaeger and this is my daughter-in-law Moera. What are your names, my dear guests?"

"I am Noeric and this is my son Hargid. He is not of a talkative type, especially after his oath. He married a woman two years ago and they still have no child. So, he promised the god of fertility to be silent for a year if he granted them a child. Today is the final day of his oath and we are going to the shrine to leave our offerings for the god and see what his answer will be." Magnus lies so convincingly that Dean throws him a confused look for a second.

"I see. I believe in his benevolence. I am sure that he will grant you your wish," Flaeger assures Dean.

"Where is your son?" Magnus asks.

"He will be back in two days. My grandson has a fever and a strong cough, so he went to see a healer and ask him for medicine." The old man sighs. In the same instant an infant starts to cough from the depths of the room, which soon turns into a loud crying. Moera jumps up startled rushing to her son's side.

Dean and Magnus exchange looks and the sorcerer guesses his silent request without a doubt.

"I know how to help with a fever and a coughing fit. I can cure your grandchild if you let me." Magnus looks at the mother and a crying baby in her arms.

"You do?" Flaeger asks desperately. "But I do not have anything to pay you. My son took our last gold to buy the medicine from the healer."

"No, no," Magnus waves his hands. "I don't need your money. Just the supper is more than enough. Now, take this root," he pulls out a small bag from his pocket, taking out a red root of a plant. "Cut it into small bits and pour a goat's milk on it. Then give it to the baby. Let him drink it. I assure you he will never suffer from a fever and coughing after this."

Flaeger chokes a sob and almost falls down on his knees in front of Magnus but the sorcerer stops him. "The baby," he reminds the man with a small smile.

* * *

"So tell me Flaeger, what do you do for living?" Magnus licks his greasy fingers. Gods, the meat tastes so delicious!

"A few years ago my son and I worked at the king's fortress. He wanted to renovate and make some changes to the water system and the bathing pool. We were paid well but no work is permanent," Flaeger laughs.

"At least you enjoyed what you did. Was it interesting?" Magnus asks curiously.

"Oh, yes it was," Flaeger says cryptically, instantly drawing Dean's attention. "Especially when there are secret tunnels and corners in the fortress."

"That sounds very intriguing," Magnus hums. "By the way, I've heard about what happened in this kingdom."

"Ah, yes, about that," the host's expression darkens. "My poor, poor king and his family," the man says so bitterly that Dean feels a dull pain in his chest. It's so obvious that the man adores his king and his family. "Our prince is such a valiant, honest and kindhearted young man. I cannot imagine what Uldred or Castiel have done to anger the gods so bad, that they turned their backs on him. He does not deserve such fate. For every kind deed he has done for us, and for the poor and the beggars, he should have received a blessing, not the rotting in the dungeon."

Dean swallows hard, placing the piece of meat on his table and grabs the cup of wine instead.

"I do not know who this barbarian is and I never want to see him, but whatever he has done to my dear prince is horrible and not right! May lightning strike him before he tries to abuse Castiel! But then again, the damn fool probably does not know that my prince is solid like a rock and unbreakable!" Flaeger exclaims heatedly.

The man's sincere outburst throws Dean into a coughing fit. Magnus smacks him on the back worriedly but the young chieftain gestures to him that he's fine.

"Well, the supper was delightful and we thank you for your kindness," the sorcerer tells the host. "Now, with your permission we will rest for an hour or two before resuming our journey."

"Of course," Flaeger stands up. "Please, follow me. You can rest here." He takes them to the other room.

* * *

Two hours later Magnus and Dean come out of their room. The fire is still throwing sparks, warming up the room.

"Has the time come for you to leave?" Flaeger and Moera stand near the door, looking at their guests.

"Yes, I am afraid so. How is the baby?" Magnus asks.

"He is sleeping peacefully. No fever or coughing. May the gods bless you!" The woman sounds awed.

"Good night Flaeger, and may you and your family have a carefree, happy life." Magnus bids his goodbye, leaving the house together with Dean.

The way back to the fortress is silent. Neither of them says a word, both men deep in thoughts. As they approach the gates, Magnus breaks the silence.

"What are you thinking about, Dean? What's on your mind? I am not sure if tonight's sneaking out gave us much but we can always repeat it," suggests the sorcerer.

"I've heard enough and what I wanted to hear. It was very useful," Dean says dryly.

"You did? I don't understand how it was useful to you?" Magnus asks confused.

"I know what I need to do." Dean smirks before disappearing through the gates.


	29. Chapter 29

The expression on Castiel's face when Bessabel visits him in the dungeon with a small bag full of various food is perplexed and doubtful.

"Where did you get this from?" the young prince asks, watching the sorcerer taking out neatly cut roasted meat, cheese, fresh bread and some fruits.

"Somehow I have earned Dean's respect and he overfeeds me," Bessabel says with a smile. "I cannot eat all these things alone and you need strength, my prince. I would not want you to fall ill."

"I will not take anything from Dean," Castiel hisses, a shadow of anger crossing over his slightly bearded face.

"It's not like he sent this directly to you," Bessabel lies calmly. "It's my food and I want to share it with you."

Castiel frowns. It's been days since he's been thrown into this cell and the only thing he's been drinking is Bessabel's healing medicine, which somehow could also sooth his hunger. But he is getting weaker without proper food, which is not a big surprise.

"Alright, I will accept this food, but only if you join me," the young man says, gazing up at the sorcerer with blue eyes that have become lackluster and faded.

Bessabel gives a short nod and places food on a small cloth he's brought with him. The man puts a flask with wine on it too.

"Please eat, my prince," he asks quietly.

"I do not want you to get into trouble because of this," Castiel says suddenly. He feels already guilty, knowing the man is taking a big risk because of him.

"Do not worry about me," Bessabel assures him.

"Then please join me," Castiel asks, his mouth is getting full with saliva and stomach growls loudly when delicious smell of meat teases his nostrils.

"Of course," Bessabel takes a small piece of cheese, biting it.

Castiel grabs meat and a slice of bread, sinking his teeth into it. Hunger has taken its toll on him, making him eat greedily.

Bessabel's heart clenches seeing his young master in such state, and he swallows the piece of cheese stuck in his throat with difficulty.

"Try this wine, Your Royal Highness." He offers the flask to Castiel. "It's very good."

The blue-eyed man smiles, taking the flask from the former slave's hands. "Thank you. You are so kind. I wish I could repay you somehow," he adds with a sad voice.

"You can repay me by not refusing eating the food that I will bring to you. That's all I ask for." The sorcerer wipes his mouth off, removing the crumbs of cheese.

There are approaching footsteps and soon after a guard comes up, bringing the daily portion of bread and water for the prisoner. Bessabel quickly covers the food brought by him with straw, so the man does not see it.

"Here is your food and water," the guard snorts. "I don't give a shit what you do with it. My duty is to bring it, the rest is up to you." He slides the cup of water and bread into the cell, leaving hurriedly afterwards. The gambling with his friends is more interesting than watching this stubborn prisoner.

"I have to go," the sorcerer informs Castiel. "I need to prepare some mixtures for the soldiers to heal various pains. Eat all of it, my prince, don't leave anything."

Castiel empties the flask and hands it to Bessabel. "Thank you once again," he says sincerely. "And please be careful."

"Of course," Bessabel agrees, silently wondering how Castiel can be concerned about others when he's in much worse conditions.

* * *

Three days later after midnight Castiel is woken up by loud cursing, desperate shouts and heavy boots thudding against the floor. It's coming from the corridor of the dungeon. The young man gets up and walks to the cell bars, trying to see what's going on.

There are guards dragging someone, who's trying to break free from their grip, kicking his feet anxiously.

"Let me go! Let me go, you bastards!" he shouts, struggling against the soldiers.

The guards pay no attention to the screamer, dragging him by the Castiel's cell and the young man has a few seconds to look at the poor man. The new prisoner is in his late thirties, with longish black hair and grey eyes. His face is scratched and gashed, like he's been in a fight.

The cell right beside Castiel's opens up and the guards throw the man in. With a loud clank the door of the cell shuts and the key locks it up securely.

"If you make even a peep, I will come and smash your head against the wall!" one of the guards threatens the man.

The prisoner does not reply and the soldiers turn around to return to their positions.

"Hey," Castiel calls as soon the soldiers are out of the corridor. "Are you alright there?"

There is some shuffling and rustling around and then Castiel's neighbor grabs the bars of his cell, pressing his forehead to them.

"Yes, I am. At least for the time being. Who are you and why are you here?" he asks.

Castiel chuckles, shaking his head. "Would you believe me if I said that I am the prince of this kingdom?"

The man from the other cell laughs a little. "The prince? That's hard to believe but not impossible. What is your name and how did you end up here?"

"My name is Castiel. And I am here because one man, who is the chieftain of a barbarian tribe called Battle Shadows, threw me in this cell. Who are you, stranger, and what did you do to deserve being in this dungeon?"

There is a small pause before the new prisoner speaks. "My name is Tesso and I am a mere wanderer, travelling from place to place, gathering interesting stories and tales. I have heard about this barbarian tribe and what their chieftain did but I did not know the whole story, that he had imprisoned you. I apologize if I acted rude."

"No, no, please don't apologize," Castiel assures him. "Tell me the reason you're here beside me in next cell."

Tesso chuckles. "It's because of my silly behavior. I was at a tavern drinking when some men came in and occupied a table near mine. They started drinking and gambling. I could see that one of them knew nothing about gambling as he played horribly. I couldn't refrain from some sarcastic remarks, which angered the man, and a heated argument ensued, which soon after turned into a fight between me and him. Of course his friends took his side. I did not know that they were warriors of Battle Shadows. I was captured and dragged to this fortress where by their chieftain's command they threw me in here."

"Looks like we are stuck here for a long time," Castiel says reluctantly. He is slowly losing hope that he will ever leave this cell.

"No, I can't adjust to this fate. I need to go back to my wife, we are expecting our first baby in a week. She needs me!" Tesso exclaims nervously, cracking his knuckles.

"I wish I could help you somehow," the prince of Vali Isuria sighs, feeling bitter that he's useless. "Go to sleep. There's nothing else that you can do. Who knows, maybe Dean will change his mind and let you go. It was a simple fight after all, it's not like you killed his warrior."

"Maybe you are right," Tesso mutters quietly. "Do you think he will let me out if I beg for forgiveness?"

"Hope dies last," Castiel responds briefly. "You can pray to the gods. Maybe they will grant you your wish."

Without saying a word Tesso pads over to his corner to sit down on straw.

"Prince Castiel," he begins only to be interrupted by the said prince.

"Just Castiel. No titles, please." The young man rubs his forehead, feeling that he does not deserve to be addresses as the member of a royal family.

"Um… alright," Tesso stammers.

"What is it? You wanted to ask me something?"

"It's nothing. Just a foolish question. Simple waste of time," Tesso shrugs.

"We have a lot of time, it's not like we're in hurry. Ask me," Castiel barks out a laugh.

"What is the thing that you miss the most?" the man asks with an obvious dreamy tone. "I already miss my wife, her sweet kisses and warm embraces."

"Except freedom?" A sad smile tugs at Castiel's lips. "I miss my family and time spent with them. I miss the color of the cloudless sky, the scent of blossoming flowers from our garden that can make one's head spin, the smell of fresh grass, feeling of the rain on my face. I miss hearing the murmur of the river Othra, while it runs, splashing against the heavy rocks; the sad or cheerful chirping of the birds; watching mischievous kittens play while their mother observes them and washes her face; petting a dog which wags its tail while looking into your eyes, like you are the best thing in the world. The simple things. I miss the simple things which could make me happy."

Both, Castiel and Tesso fall silent, Castiel from his heavy heart and the other man simply because he does not know how to respond. The sadness in the prince's voice is so thick and painful that it's hard to stay untouched by his confession.

"I am so sorry," Tesso finally breaks the silence.

"Don't be. It's not your fault." Castiel goes back to his bedding, lying on it as he stares at the ceiling.

The rest of the night passes quietly. Tesso falls asleep soon after their conversation, leaving Castiel alone with his forlorn thoughts.

* * *

Despite Tesso's hopes, Dean does not show up next day. The young barbarian deigns to come to the dungeon only two days later, when the wanderer has already exhausted and tormented Castiel with his constant questioning about "Where is he?" and "Why doesn't he want to see me?"

Dean walks through the corridor with two guards behind him. The stern and determined expression on his face does not promise anything good as he passes by Castiel's cell, not throwing even a side glance at the prince.

With a very bad feeling Castiel presses against the cold metal bars, trying to hear what's going on in the next cell where Dean and the guards have just walked in.

Dean says something in a low voice, which is followed by Tesso's muffled protests. Castiel cannot hear what they are talking about but it does not matter as in next instant a whip slashes through the air and Tesso screams. He screams so loud that every hair on Castiel's body stands on its end. The whip continues hissing through the air, drawing out the pained cries from the prisoner.

"Stop it!" Castiel shouts at the top of his lungs. "Dean, stop it!" The young man is shaking like a leaf, grabbing the bars for support. "For the love of the gods, stop what you're doing! It was a simple fight. Let the man go!"

To his immense surprise the torture stops. For a moment nothing happens and there are only Tesso's distressed whimpers sounding out of the cell, but then Dean and his men come out.

The green-eyed barbarian stops in front of Castiel, staring at him with an unreadable expression before resuming walking.

Castiel is not able to decipher Dean's expression, but there was something that he saw in his eyes and it frightens the young man.

Besides emptiness, there was something else, much worse and dangerous, hiding behind the green eyes, like a predator waiting for its prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, any thoughts? ;)
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on 8-th of May.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N** : I think this fic will have 42 chapters in total just like Chasing Your Shadow. At least that’s the current plan.  By the way, if you still don’t understand what’s happening after you read the chapter, it will become clear in next chapter. I promised that all your questions would be answered in this chapter, but hell it’s gotten quite long (and I hate writing long chapters) and I had to break it.  Oh, and one more thing: Dean’s relationship with Cas changes drastically after this chapter!

* * *

 

Castiel presses up against the wall with his body, hands and ear on the cold stone, trying to catch any sound from the neighboring cell as soon as Dean and the guards are out of the dungeon.

"Tesso, can you hear me? Are you alright? Please talk to me!"   
  
He's left without an answer for a minute or two, and Castiel is beginning to panic when there finally comes a muffled, stammering response:  
  
"Y-yes. I am s-still alive."   
  
Castiel heaves a sigh, releasing breath he never noticed he was holding 'til now. The young man slides down the wall, sitting on straw.   
  
"I will ask Bessabel, my healer, to look at your wounds. He is on good terms with Dean and he could ask for permission to visit you in your cell," Castiel offers. This is all he can do, at least for the time being.   
  
"No, it's not necessary," Tesso grunts as he shifts to the side. "He may get into trouble for even asking. Besides, I have white button mushrooms, which I always carry with me."  
  
"Mushrooms?" Castiel sounds confused. "How would mushrooms help?"  
  
"Oh, I suppose you don't know about their healing powers. They are very good for treating wounds. For a man like me, who travels a lot, there can be many obstacles on the way, from insect bites to more severe wounds. These mushrooms are irreplaceable in such occasions."  
  
"I've never heard of them," Castiel admits. Tesso seems like he's been to many places and seen a lot of things. The young prince wishes he had met the man in different circumstances, where they would spend time in a pleasant conversation while Castiel would listen to random stories the man would have to tell.   
  
"There's nothing difficult about them," Tesso informs him. "You simply eat them and they regenerate skin. They fight infection too, so you're safe."   
  
"But maybe we should still try to ask Bessabel?" Castiel tries again.  
  
"No, it's not worth the risk. I'll be fine," his neighbor assures him.  
  
"Alright," Castiel decides to give up. "And, Tesso..." The brunet pauses before continuing. "I'm glad to meet you, though I wish we had met in different place and time."   
  
"Me too, Prince Castiel," Tesso answers after a moment's hesitation, voice hoarse and thick with emotion. "How I wish the circumstances were different."   
  
They don't speak much after that. Both men sink into their thoughts 'til sleep sneaks up on them, taking both prisoners into the land of dreams. 

* * *

"What a surprise. I didn't expect to see you here," Dean exclaims somewhat teasingly as he notices Sam in the hall of the fortress. Sam looks dirty, sweaty and tired.   
  
"Um… yes. I came back to get cleaned and change before going back to the settlement," the younger Winchester responds timidly, shifting under his brother's intense gaze.   
  
Dean smirks. He knows all of Sam's expressions and body language. And if he acts like this and blushes while internally trying to crawl into a hole and hide there, it means that…  
  
"A girl!" Dean exclaims merrily. "There must be a girl. That's why you look like a puppy that broke its owner's favorite plate and wants to run away in shame."   
  
"What? Of course not!" Sam cries out indignantly and too quickly, though the blush on his face states otherwise.   
  
The chieftain of Battle Shadows throws his head back and laughs. "Oh come on, Sam. You can't hide anything from me. I know you too well. Let's have some drink and you will tell me who she is."  
  
Dean drags him to the wine cellar he's found not so long ago. Uldred has a fine taste, Dean can't argue with that.   
  
"So, how are things at the settlement?" he asks, as they sit down at a small table in the cold and huge wine cellar, packed with heavy wooden barrels, putting an amphora and two mugs between him and his brother.   
  
"Things are going well," Sam clears his throat. "We will be able to finish all the building work in no more than ten days."  
  
"Sounds good to me. I plan to come and take a look, see if they need anything. How is Addaem? I don't understand why he refused to stay at the fortress," Dean shrugs, making a sip from his mug. "Damn, this wine is good. Uldred, you tasteful son of a bitch!"   
  
"Addaem is fine. He feels like a fish in water," Sam chuckles. "He helps a lot, starting from early mornings 'till late at night. We formed a group of watchmen with two shifts to guard the settlement and keep order."  
  
"Good. I'm very glad that everything seems to be fine. Hopefully it will stay that way. Now, tell me about your mysterious beauty." Dean grins widely.   
  
"Well," Sam scratches his head, spinning the mug in his big hands. "Her name is Jess. She is not from Battle Shadows. She's local."   
  
"Oh," Dean makes a small, surprised sound. "And how did you meet her?"  
  
"A few days ago I went for a walk up the hills. I was simply enjoying the view and nature when I heard a scream. I ran towards the source of the noise and saw a young girl being attacked by a horde of hungry jackals. She was pasturing her sheep when they attacked her. I couldn't let her be torn apart, so I did what I had to do: killed and wounded some of them. A few still escaped but I don't think they will return. Not after seeing what I did to their friends." Sam makes a small huff and continues. "She did not know who I was and when I told her, she got scared but I assured that she was safe, that I would not hurt her. We talked for a while, then I helped her gather her frightened sheep and escorted her to her house."  
  
"I am proud of you, Sammy," Dean says with a smile.   
  
"Shut up, Dean." The younger Winchester blushes furiously, feeling the heat rising up from his cheeks towards the tips of his ears.  
  
"No, I am not joking. Seriously. I am glad that you helped that poor soul and I hope that you will find your happiness with her." Dean clinks his mug to his brother's. "So, did she kiss you?"  
  
"Dean!" Sam pulls off one of the expressions, which Dean teasingly calls a "bitchface."   
  
"So she did," Dean continues taunting his brother. "I'm happy for you, Sammy. You grab that girl and never let go. Do you hear me?" He smacks Sam on the arm. "Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I will need you to be here at the fortress in three days."  
  
"What's happening in three days?" Sam asks curiously.   
  
"I can't tell you much but I promise it will be good. More wine?" he offers.  
  
"No, it's enough. Alright, I will be here in three days. And, Dean, what are you planning to do with Castiel? Do you intend to keep him in the dungeon?" the younger Winchester asks cautiously.   
  
"For the time being, yes. Why are you so concerned about him?" There are obvious displeased notes in Dean's voice.  
  
"He is a member of a royal family. Maybe you should treat him like one?" Sam suggests.  
  
The older brother empties his mug, placing it on the table with a loud noise. "Thank you for sharing this wine with me. I will see you in three days." Dean's voice indicates that the conversation is over.   
  
"Yes, of course," Sam mumbles, standing up awkwardly. "See you in three days, then."

* * *

 

Through the curtain of restless sleep Castiel hears some strange noises. It sounds like someone's panting, while dragging something heavy. It's all accompanied by scraping and scratching. 

Castiel shifts, turning to face the wall and rubs the remains of sleep out of his eyes. Now, when he's more sober, he realizes that the sounds actually are coming from Tesso's cell.   
  
"Tesso?" the young man calls, straining his ears. There is no reply, only dead silence. "Hmm, probably some dream," Castiel decides, blaming it on his mind.   
  
He's falling asleep when the sounds return and this time they sound even more real and sharper than before. Castiel jolts up, putting his hand against the wall.   
  
"Tesso," he lets out a quiet hiss. "What's happening there?"   
  
"I think I found a way out." The man's voice sounds so near that Castiel almost yelps. "Come closer, there is a hole in your wall."   
  
Castiel follows the sound of Tesso's voice 'till he sees a small gap. The fire in the torches has not faded out yet and their dim light is sufficient for the brunet to find it.   
  
"What are you talking about? There is no way out," Castiel argues.   
  
"That's what I thought," Tesso whispers. "There is a tunnel under this dungeon, which I believe leads into the courtyard."  
  
"How do you know this?" Castiel's heart is hammering in his chest. He's never heard of it before.   
  
"I just crawled out of there."  
  
"What?" Castiel exclaims somewhat loudly, instantly regretting it. No need to draw the guards' attention.   
  
"I could not sleep and started to pace around the cell, thinking about my wife, how she is, if my baby is born yet. So, during that walk I noticed that some of the stones in the floor were loose. They moved under my feet. I became curious, wondering if I could pull them out. Imagine my surprise when I was able to. I was not prepared for what I found beneath. As I said, there is a tunnel stretched below. I went in. At first all I could do was crawl on my stomach but then the passage widened and I could stand up and walk freely. I kept walking 'till I reached a dead-end but I had a feeling that it was not it. And I was right. There was a hole above my head which was corked by a stone. I believe it can be moved but I could not reach it. Now, if you come with me then we can both escape from this gods-forsaken place." Tesso finishes his feverish speech, waiting for Castiel's respond.   
  
The brunet does not answer immediately but then begins to laugh quietly, which startles his neighbor. This was not the reaction Tesso expected.  
  
"Did I say something funny, my Prince?" he asks confused.  
  
"Tesso, if your cell has a secret exit it does not mean that mine has it too," the young man chuckles.   
  
"Why don't you check it?"   
  
The short but logical question makes Castiel frown. Indeed, why can't he find out for himself?   
  
"Alright," the prince of Vali Isuria agrees, for a moment forgetting about his promise to Bessabel that he would not try to escape from the dungeon.   
  
The thorough checking of every inch of his cell unfortunately doesn't reveal any moving stones. They are all firmly sitting in their places.   
  
"Nothing," Castiel sighs, returning to his place. "They are not moving."   
  
"No time for desperation. We can leave from my cell," Tesso says with an envious determination.  
  
"How? I cannot walk through the walls if you have not noticed," the blue-eyed man retorts sharply.   
  
"That would be fantastic if we could do that but we can try a different way. How about we try with this wall? Maybe there is a loose stone in it?" Tesso begins to knock on the wall, checking for the right sound.   
  
Castiel is amazed with this man and his wit, therefore instead of arguing he simply complies, joining him in his search.   
  
"Here it is," Tesso states happily. "I can feel it move under my touch. Do you have something sharp to scrape it out?"   
  
"Um… I have a spoon," Castiel suggests doubtfully.   
  
"That will do. Use its handle. I will help you from my side," Tesso sounds ecstatic.  
  
"And how?"  
  
"I have a lucky iron nail which I carry with me. Oh, I am full of surprises, my prince," Tesso chuckles. "Now, let's start on it, we don't have much time. We need to remove the stone before the fire dies out in the torches."  
  
"Tesso," Castiel sounds hesitant. "I am not sure about this. "Maybe we are making a mistake? I don't want my family or Bessabel to get into trouble. If I escape Dean will make them pay."  
  
"How? I doubt Dean will blame Bessabel for your escape. And I am more than sure that your family will not suffer. Dean is not stupid. He will guess that you will not endanger them by your return. You can come with me. Stay at my house 'till you decide what to do," Tesso offers.  
  
"I don't know. I don't know, Tesso," the brunet mumbles, sounding lost.   
  
"Do you want to rot in this dungeon? And as far as I can see, Dean has no intention of letting us go. We should definitely escape! Now, let's begin our work, my prince!"  
  
Tesso's reassuring does its work, wiping out the last doubts from the young man's mind and he takes the spoon in his hand, beginning to scrape out the liming and concrete from the wall. 

* * *

They are both panting and sweating but satisfied with the work done as they're sitting leaning against the wall behind their backs. It took them almost two hours to extract the stone so Castiel could crawl into Tesso's cell. Thank gods for the stone's size and the brunet's flexible, pliant body that allowed him to fit through the hole.  
  
"Now what?" Castiel asks hoarsely.   
  
"Now we remove these two stones," Tesso points somewhere before him. "It's much easier."   
  
"Yes but we need light. The fire's dead." Castiel turns his head towards the corridor. "I'm surprised that the guards did not check on us. We still made some noises."  
  
"They don't bother after the fires fade. And as to the light, I have it," he says in a cryptic tone.   
  
"What do you mean?" Castiel's question is answered when Tesso pulls out a glass jar which glows with a yellow light.  
  
"Fireflies," the man smiles at him. "It's very useful in the darkness."  
  
"But how did you carry it pass the guards? Didn't they check?" Castiel arches his brow.  
  
"They did. They took my bag and all the things I had in it but I assume a jar of fireflies didn't interest them that much," Tesso shrugs.   
  
"How kind of them," Castiel snorts. "Alright, tell me what to do."

* * *

As Tesso said, the passage is narrow. It's hard to breathe as they make their way forward by crawling. It smells horribly too: excrements of rats, moist and foul water is all mingled up. Tesso is leading the way, holding the jar above his head. The little insects trapped in it lighten up their way perfectly and Castiel feels a spark of hope in his heart.   
  
With each foot left behind the passage widens 'till both men can stand up. The tunnel seems like an endless, gaping black hole but Castiel trusts his companion's words: there is a secret exit somewhere here.   
  
"Did you mean this dead-end?" Castiel asks as he comes to face a wall covered in moss and cobwebs.   
  
"No, not that one," Tesso's voice sounds distant and somewhere from the left. "It's here."  
  
Castiel finds him staring at the ceiling. A massive stone is covering the hole in it. Tesso chuckles pointing at the stone:  
  
"I couldn't reach this bastard. I'm not tall enough."

"Alright," Castiel stands under the stone, studying it with his gaze. "It is big but not as heavy as it seems. This is what we will do. You will sit on my shoulders and I will lift you up. Let's hope this works."  
  
"This is very awkward," Tesso mumbles, feeling uncomfortable.  
  
"No time for that. Let's do it," Castiel urges him on.   
  
Muttering a thousand apologies Tesso does as he's told. He places both palms against the stone as soon as Castiel straightens up.   
  
"Push it! Come on!" the brunet growls.  
  
Tesso gathers all of his strength, wheezing and snarling. The stone moves a little from his efforts.  
  
"Yes! Just like that!" Castiel exclaims excited, seeing that it can be removed.   
  
Reassured from this little success, Tesso doubles his efforts and as the result he manages to lift the stone even higher this time.   
  
"It… it definitely needs two people," he croaks, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I cannot do it alone."   
  
"We don't have such lux…" Castiel shuts up abruptly when they hear a creaking and rattling sound, followed by a loud rumble. It's like someone opened the old, rusty floodgates to let the water out.   
  
"Oh gods…" Castiel turns pale.   
  
"What? What is it?" Tesso cries out in fear.   
  
"We need to hurry up or we will drown," the young man exclaims.  
  
"What do you mean?" Tesso stops his efforts to move the stone.   
  
"It seems that this tunnel is connected to the bathing pool. I don't know where the water goes from here but I know that right now it's running through this tunnel and we will drown if we don't hurry up!"   
  
Castiel does not need to say more as the roaring water comes rushing through the passage, filling up and flooding the way.   
  
"We need to go back! We need to go back!" Tesso screams in utter fear.   
  
"We will never make it!" Castiel yells, standing in the water up to his waist.   
  
"I don't want to die!"   
  
"We will not die! Listen to me," Castiel looks around, shaking in nervous tremors. "we should use water to our advantage. When it feels up the space, it will push up the stone. There are loose cracks around it. Your strength should be enough. Now, give me the jar and take a deep breath!" Castiel shouts before the water covers him completely.   
  
The following seconds are an agonizing nightmare. There is a moment of doubt in Castiel's mind that they are both doomed to die. Freezing water burns his eyes and stiffens his body, making his fingers go numb but he knows that he has to hold the jar of fireflies, providing the light to the man on his shoulders, whose strength plays a decisive role whether they escape from this deadly trap.   
  
Castiel's mind begins to sink in to unconsciousness from the lack of oxygen when he feels Tesso's hand grabbing his arm and pulling upwards.  
  
They both dive out from under the water, inhaling so much needed air 'till their lungs are full with it.   
  
"We did it," Castiel says in disbelief, hugging the man tightly. "I thought we would die."   
  
"I knew we would move this bastard," Tesso taps the slippery stone, which is moved aside by the efforts of the two exhausted men. "Now let's get out of here before we freeze."  
  
They both crawl out of the water, coughing and trying to catch their breaths, crouching and moving along the walls hidden in the darkness.   
  
"There will be a lot of guards at the main gates. We need to use the smaller one, in the back," Castiel whispers, gesturing his companion to be quiet.   
  
Thank to the darkness the warriors walking on the battlements do not notice them, as the two men sneak towards the back gates, and Castiel heaves a huge sigh of relief.

But maybe too early…  
  
"Oh, finally! Or I was beginning to think that you both drowned," a voice states mockingly.  
  
Castiel falls into silent stupor, feeling all the blood leaving his paled face when he encounters his most horrible nightmare, the man called Dean Winchester.


	31. Chapter 31

Castiel is not sure why his clothes suddenly feel so heavy and sticky. Is it because they are sodden and cold, or is the sweat which glues them to his body to blame? He can hear Tesso's heavy breathing beside him. Castiel does not need to look at the man to understand how anxious he is.

Dean Winchester, his younger brother Sam, and twelve warriors are standing in front of him with lit torches. It seems that they knew where to wait to catch the unfortunate escapees.

"Tesso, get behind me," Castiel whispers hoarsely, shielding the man with his body and ready to fight. "Do not get any closer!" he growls at the men before him.

Dean, who is looking very amused, throws his head back and barks out a laugh. "Really? Are you serious, Cas?"

"Do I look like I am joking? If you try to hurt me or this man…"

"This man you say?" Dean hums, stepping towards Castiel, who shifts into a defensive position. "Are you really that naïve, or are you playing stupid?"

"What are you talking about?" Castiel demands sternly.

"Hmm, and I thought that you would be cleverer than this. But then, who knows, maybe the beating you received from me messed up your mind. That man, whom you're trying so desperately to protect, was just a pawn in my game." Dean smirks, satisfied with the change on Castiel's face.

"I don't believe you," the brunet mumbles, feeling a pain in his chest.

"Where did you think all his tools had come from? Fireflies and the nail? It was all planned," Dean chuckles.

"But you whipped him brutally! I wanted to ask Bessabel to treat his wounds but he refused, not wanting him to get into trouble!" Castiel exclaims, feeling angry.

"Are you sure that was the reason why he refused?" Dean arches his brow with a mocking smile on his lips. "Come forth and pull up your tunic!" he orders Tesso.

With uneven steps Tesso walks and stops in front of Dean. The desperate and pained expression on his face is a clear sign that the man wishes to be anywhere but here. He slowly pulls up the tunic, waiting for Dean's next command.

"Turn around and show it to him!"

Castiel lets out a tiny, surprised sound when he does not see any trace of wounds left by the whip on Tesso's back. The skin is unblemished.

"It was part of the plan. I needed him to gain your trust," Dean explains before Castiel asks his question. The young barbarian turns to Tesso. "You are free to go. Oh, almost forgot. Here," he throws a small bag at the man. Judging by the jingling sounds it must be gold.

"But how did you know that there was a secret tunnel under the dungeon?" Castiel asks to Tesso. The hurt on his face is so obvious that the man is unable to look the young prince in the eyes.

"I knew because it was my father and me who worked at the fortress, changing the water system. I knew that there was a secret way out from one of the cells, leading into the tunnel. I was placed in that cell, next to you."

"But why? Why did you do it?" Castiel's voice breaks as he finally realizes that he's been fooled so badly and betrayed.

"Because he and his family were out of money and I thought it was a perfect chance for both of us. By the way, how is your child? Does he still suffer from coughing? He shouldn't. Not after Magnus gave your wife that medicine."

"No, he's perfectly fine. Thank you." Tesso hangs his head, feeling utterly embarrassed. "I am so sorry, my prince. Please forgive me!" he looks up at Castiel pleadingly. "I have made a terrible mistake and I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I still beg for it!"

"That's enough. My regards to your father, though he hates me," Dean laughs and gestures that Tesso is free to go. "As for you, my little bird, you're going back to your cell."

"Why?" Castiel grabs Dean's wrist before the chieftain of Battle Shadows moves. "Why did you do this to me, Dean?"

Dean's amused expression turns into an unreadable, cold mask and he leans forward towards Castiel's ear, whispering:

"Because I promised to break you."

There is a silence which seems to stretch on and on until it is deafening.

Finally Castiel shakes his head. "No. Kill me. But don't send me back to the cell. Please. Just kill me," he whispers hoarsely, feeling the crazy pace of his heart.

"Shhh," Dean hushes him, his thumb brushes over Castiel's cheekbone, wiping the single tear that has rolled down from the captive's eye.

No one knows how long they'd have been staring into each other's eyes if not for a loud shout from the guards at the front gates. One shift is over; time for the other one to take over.

"Take him back." Dean clears his throat, as he's able to look away from Castiel's eyes. And why hasn't he noticed before how blue and beautiful they were?

Before Castiel reacts, he is surrounded by Dean's men, trapping him into a narrow circle. The young prince decides to resist and fight and he manages to punch and kick a few warriors, but he's quickly grabbed with his arms twisted behind his back and dragged away. Castiel's desperate shouts hang heavy in the night.

"Dean, what on earth was this?"

His brother's shaking voice makes Dean turn around.

"What are you talking about, Sam?"

"What was this? Why did you do this to him?" Sam is gaping at him, shock and disbelief obvious in his eyes.

"Oh, stop it now. Don't tell me it wasn't funny," Dean laughs a little but stops when it does not have the same effect on his sibling.

"Did you… did you tell me to be here in three days to witness this horrible show? What is wrong with you?" Sam's voice rises up.

"Sam…"

"What happened to you? What happened to my brother that I knew? This is not how Bobbi raised us, Dean! Dear gods, what is possessing you, making you act so reckless and disrespectfully? Bobbi would be ashamed of you if he knew. I am ashamed of you!"

Sam storms off towards the fortress, leaving stunned Dean behind. He has never seen Sam so angry. Maybe he really went too far with Castiel?

By the time Dean decides to go into the fortress, Sam has gathered all of his things. They stumble upon each other in the doorway.

"Where are you going?" Dean asks, noticing his brother's packs of possessions.

"Out of here. And I will not be back 'till you realize what a selfish, arrogant idiot you have become," Sam spits angrily, stomping through the door.

The younger Winchester's words echo in the walls of the fortress, leaving a bitter tang of resentment in Dean's heart. Suddenly he feels very vulnerable and lonely. It's good that he's alone and no one is around to see his state. With a heavy heart and gloomy thoughts Dean decides to retreat to his chambers 'til he decides what to do. Hopefully he will come up with something sensible.

* * *

Three hours later after Castiel's failed escape and when the whole fortress is aware of it, Bessabel decides to see him in the dungeon.

A sleepy and grumpy guard opens the door and the healer walks into Castiel's cell. The prince is lying on his stomach on straw and is eerily quiet, which is very strange as Castiel is a light sleeper, stirring from even a small sound.

"My prince," Bessabel calls to him, and his worries increase when the brunet does not move.

The healer kneels beside the sleeping man, grabbing his shoulder and turning over. The former slave cries out in fear when he notices white foam dripping down Castiel's mouth.

"No, no, no," Bessabel mumbles in consternation. He rushes outside of the cell, grabs one of the torches and returns to kneel beside Castiel. The healer quickly rolls up Castiel's still wet tunic and stares down at red, swollen marks on his abdomen. There are three of them.

"Dear gods, no," Bessabel mumbles, divining that Castiel has been stung by red scorpions, one of the deadliest creatures inhabiting Vali Isuria.

The healer stands up with the torch in his hand and begins to check Castiel's cell. In one of the corners he sees a swarming red pile of the small but dangerous things. He lowers the torch and lets the fire engulf them, listening to their agonized screeches. Bessabel understands that they have a nest somewhere in here and Castiel needs to be removed from this cell as soon as possible.

"Guard!" he shouts desperately.

"What is it now?" the guard asks angrily but when the healer explains, concern crosses his face.

"Just stay here, and set them on fire if they crawl out from anywhere," Bessabel pleads. "I need to go and find Dean! Castiel's life is in danger!"

* * *

Dean is sleeping when someone knocks on his door. The young chieftain is lying on the bed dressed only in his trousers. His muscled, sun-tanned naked chest is rising and falling in even breathing. He shifts slightly but opens his eyes only after the knocking gets more insisting and loud.

"What? What is it? Come in!" Dean shouts exasperated, seating up on the bed and rubbing his tired eyes.

The door opens and very anxious and pale Bessabel walks in. Looking at the healer's worried face Dean guesses that something terrible has happened.

"What's wrong?" Dean stands up, reeling slightly from all the wine he'd drunk earlier.

"Castiel… he… he…" Bessabel gasps for air.

"What happened to Castiel?" Dean's face darkens as he steps forward.

"He's dying." Bessabel swallows a lump in his throat.

"What are you talking about? What do you mean he's dying?" Dean grabs the healer by his robe.

"There are red scorpions in his cell and they stung him. He has three marks on his stomach. He will die if…"

Bessabel is roughly pushed aside as Dean crashes into him while running towards the door. The healer blinks a few times, surprised by such sudden concern from the barbarian's side and follows suit.

* * *

Dean does not realize that he is barefoot and half naked, wearing only his trousers when he runs through the corridor, heading towards Castiel's cell. He had a lot of time for thinking and analyzing his actions, how he treated Castiel and how dark he had turned. Thank to his brother's eye-opening speech now he realizes how awful his behavior had been.

"Chieftain," the guard left in the Castiel's cell bows respectfully as Dean rushes into Castiel's cell.

The young man does not pay any attention to him, squatting beside the throne's heir.

"Cas, hey, Cas," he slaps the younger man in the face. "Come on, open your eyes."

"I'm afraid it's impossible at the moment," Bessabel speaks behind his back. "Their poison is fast and deadly. Castiel needs my immediate assistance, otherwise he will die."

"No," Dean rasps. "I won't let that happen," he mutters under his breath but still audible for Bessabel.

The green-eyed barbarian looks down at the man, whom he's put through so much suffering and pain, then picks him up and holds firmly against his body.

"Let's go," he turns to Bessabel before walking out of the cell.

As they walk through the corridor both men sink in their thoughts. Dean thinks how pleasant it is to feel Castiel's faint but warm breath against his naked chest, and it surprises him when he sends a short prayer to the gods to save the life of the man who he's holding in his arms.

A faint smile crosses Bessabel's face as he witnesses the scene before him. He knows that the ice has cracked and begun to melt in Dean's heart, and that this is only the beginning of a change for the better in these two men's relationship.

He only hopes it is not too late for that change to make any difference.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter, where Dean proves that he is not an incorrigible dick.

The guards accompanying their chieftain share confused glances as their leader carries Castiel's unconscious body through the corridor of the dungeon. Bessabel follows Dean in silence, which seems louder than if the man had been shouting. Dean had been genuinely worried when he'd heard about the prince's condition and seemed determined to save him but what next? If Castiel lived, fighting off the deadly stings, what would happen later? Would Dean have him thrown back in the cell again?

Bessabel's troublesome thoughts scatter when they enter the fortress and Dean heads towards his bedroom.

"Dean, what's happening?" Magnus seems to appear out of nowhere and walks toward them with a puzzled look. He keeps shifting his gaze from Castiel's limp body to Dean's stern face.

"Castiel was stung by red scorpions and he may die if we don't help him in time." The older Winchester's voice is strained.

"Ah, yes. Those demonic creatures are the worst nightmare known to the mankind. I've heard their venom melts a man's intestines and there are not many survivors," Magnus keeps rambling. "But I can help by mixing necessary ingredients for medicine. My mixt…" he wants to add more when Dean interrupts him:

"It's alright. Bessabel will take care of him. Thank you, Magnus."

The pain and hurt from rejection shine in the eyes of Battle Shadows' sorcerer. This is the second time Dean has chosen the former slave over him! Him, the man who has been devoted and serving his chieftain for so long! Why? Why does Dean keep doing it? What has Magnus done wrong? Why does Dean refuse to accept his wish for help? He is not a bad healer, he knows a lot of mixtures, medicines and ointments which can cure badly injured or heavily ill people. Then why did he lose Dean's benevolence?

Magnus kills the pain in his heart and tries to smile politely. "Of course, Dean. As you wish. Let us hope that the young prince survives."

Hidden from the green-eyed barbarian, Magnus throws a murderous glance, full of loathing at Bessabel before going on his way.

Quickly following Dean into Castiel's former bedroom Bessabel understands that Magnus has just declared war on him.

"Your words upset him," Bessabel remarks as the door shuts behind their back.

"What words?" Dean asks without turning to the man. He goes to the bed, laying Castiel on it.

"That I would take care of Castiel. You hurt his pride."

"Nonsense. He is a very good healer. I respect and value whatever he does for me and our people. But I thought in this case you would be more fitting for the healer's candidate. You know Castiel better than him and he would trust you more than my man. Now, stop worrying about unimportant things and tell me what we should do." Finally Dean turns to face the man.

"Well, to start with he needs to be rid of these wet clothes." Bessabel clears his throat. "We can't allow him lose more body heat than he has already."

"Right, his clothes," Dean rubs his neck. "Do you need my help in it?"

Bessabel chuckles. "No, not in this. But in something else, yes."

"What can I do? Tell me," Dean gets ready for whatever the healer has to ask.

"I will need warm water, clean cloths and two servants who will clean him of the dirt and mud. Meanwhile, I will prepare the medicine which will flush out the venom from his body. Could you provide me with it, please?" Bessabel asks politely.

"Um, yes. Yes of course," Dean responds hurriedly, already heading to the door.

"Thank you. I will let you know his condition when we finish."

"Yes, keep me informed." The older Winchester disappears behind the door to find servants for Bessabel's assistance.

* * *

It had been a really good idea for Dean to bring a few women from the camp to the fortress. They would clean, cook and take care of the other things at the fortress. They were of a great help and he sincerely appreciated their efforts.

Now two of them, in accordance with their chieftain's order, are in the chamber were the prince of Vali Isuria is fighting death. His cold, sodden clothes are thrown to the floor and the servants are cleaning the young man's lean and naked body with cloths soaked in warm water. The three red stings are glaring angrily on Castiel's body. They are swollen, full with venom and ready to burst at any careless, inaccurate touch.

"Be careful with them," Bessabel warns the women as he keeps pestling herbs and berries into a bowl. "Avoid cleaning those areas. They need to be taken care of differently."

Castiel's bare chest is covered in little dots of sweat and its rise and fall is barely visible. The venom is quickly spreading in the young man's body and Bessabel is quite amazed that his prince has withstood it for so long.

"Alright, that's enough for the time being. He can take a long, warm bath when he gets better. Hopefully." The ambiguous meaning is clear behind his words. Indeed, no one knows if Dean will not send Castiel back to the dungeon once again, after he gets better. Well, the former slave hopes that he does not.

"Thank you, ladies. Your work is finished here," Bessabel tells the women. "And please tell Dean that I need his help."

The servants wish him luck, gather the bowls with warm water and dirty cloths, and leave the bedchamber.

Dean is surprised when the servants tell him that the healer asked for him. Without hesitation he goes back to the bedroom where he's left both men.

"I apologize for disturbing you and I know I said I would keep you informed about his condition, but things changed. This medicine which I prepared is very bitter and I will need your help while I try to make him drink it," Bessabel says, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"Do not worry about it," Dean assures him. "But he is still unconscious. How will you do it?"

"Oh, trust me, this will bring him back from whichever the darkest pit of abyss he's roaming about right now. He is as vulnerable as a newborn kitten at the time being, but after a sip of this drink he will resist with all his might and force, trying to reject and spit out the medicine. That's why I need you to hold and prevent him from spitting it up." The healer approaches the bed with a small cup in his hands.

"Alright. Let's do this."

Dean slides one hand under Castiel's shoulder blades and lifts him into sitting position. The prince shows no signs of resistance yet.

"Hold his hands down," Bessabel instructs. "And hold them tight."

The healer opens Castiel's mouth and empties the cup in it. There are only a few sips in it so there's no danger of suffocating.

"Hold him! Don't let go!" Bessabel exclaims anxiously as Castiel's eyes fly open when the bitter liquid fills up his mouth.

He makes a distressed sound in his throat, trying to spit out the drink but Bessabel's hands are grabbing his jaws tightly, not letting the young man open his mouth. Castiel tries to lift his arms to remove the healer's hands from his face but Dean is having none of it! The brunet starts to kick and squirm in earnest, breathing heavily and making muffled protesting sounds. He is too weak against two men and Castiel has no other choice left other than swallowing the disgusting, bitter liquid which feels like fire in his mouth. As soon as he swallows it down, he goes pliant and quiet.

"Is he alright?" Dean asks concerned when he sees motionless Castiel.

"He will be alright. The medicine started to work. Now, I need to clean the stings and put an ointment on them. You are free to go, my lord, and thank you for all your help," Bessabel says respectfully.

"How long will it take him to get better?" The young barbarian glances at Castiel, lying against the pillows.

"I suppose three or four hours. Why do you ask? Do you want to send him back to the dungeon again when he gets better?" Bessabel can't help when worry for his prince cracks his voice.

"What?" Dean gives him a stunned look. "No, of course not! Castiel will stay here in the fortress. In his bedroom."

"But you…"

"I will move to the other chamber. There are many empty chambers here," Dean simply shrugs. "You are a good man, Bessabel. A good, loyal man to his prince and Castiel is very lucky that you stayed with him. Take a good care of him," Dean tells the healer before exiting now Castiel's bedchamber.

* * *

Three hours later Dean sneaks into Castiel's bedchamber. The prince looks calm and if Dean's eyesight is not playing tricks on him, some color has returned to his face too. Instead of looking ghostly pale, a light shade of pink is coloring his cheeks. Long, black eyelashes flutter slightly as Castiel takes a few deep, relaxed breaths. His hands are resting on the thin but warm cover, fingers twitching occasionally.

Dean takes a chair and puts it near Castiel's bed, sitting down on it. He takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, getting ready for a genuine confession.

"I am glad that you are alive, Cas," he begins quietly. "I believe we both made mistakes from the start. I was blinded by my arrogance and pride. I realized it. I was not raised as a cruel, heartless man. I succumbed to weakness and it was you who had to pay for it. My brother showed me what a fool I had become and I am glad that he did. Of course he is still angry with me but I believe we will find a way to smooth things out." Dean lets out a small laugh before continuing his speech.

"You don't have to worry about your state anymore. This is your bedroom and you will remain here. I have no intention of sending you back into the dungeon. Also, have no worries of me forcing myself on you. Do I want you? I'll be damned by all existing gods, yes! More than anything. I want to know that you are mine, hear your sweet moans while I thrust deep inside you. But I do not want those things if I have to take them against your will. Not anymore. You deserve better than being raped and abused by me. And you know, probably it's good that you are sleeping now while I'm talking because I don't think… I am not sure I'd be brave enough to tell you these words into your face if you were awake." Dean huffs and rubs his face. He is tired and needs to sleep.

"Get better soon, Cas," he mutters under his breath before standing up.

The thing Dean does not notice on his way to the door is a curious, disbelieving glance from a pair of bright blue eyes.


	33. Chapter 33

"How are you feeling, my prince?" Bessabel notes to himself that Castiel looks much better than he had a few hours ago.   
  
"I have a slight headache but other than that I feel well. Thank you." Castiel adjusts the pillow behind his back, leaning against it as he blinks lazily at the healer who has come to check on his state. The softness and warmth of the comfortable bed feel soothing for his aching body.  
  
"I'm glad to hear it. The headache will wear off by itself. It's just a small aftereffect of the medicine." Bessabel approaches the bed, putting his palm against Castiel's forehead and humming contentedly when he's satisfied with the results.   
  
"Why am I here?" the heir to the throne asks, confused about his current state.  
  
"Dean brought you to your bedchamber after I told him about the scorpions." Bessabel puts a plate full of freshly sliced and juicy red apples before him. "These will help you expel any remaining toxins from your body. They are from the royal garden."   
  
"Dean was here," Castiel begins and reaches for the fruit, unable to resist its aroma.   
  
"Oh, and what did he say?" Bessabel asks curiously, taking a seat near the bed.  
  
Castiel snorts. "It was more like a confession. He thought I was sleeping and decided to open up."  
  
"A confession? Sounds interesting." Bessabel gives a small chuckle. He has a vague idea of where this is going.   
  
"Briefly, he said that he was wrong and apologized for behaving so badly. Also, he said that I should not be worried for my safety anymore." The brunet munches on his apple, staring at the opposite wall. "What do you think, Bessabel?"  
  
"About what, My Prince?" the healer asks timidly.   
  
"About this. About everything. Dean and the current state of events." The blue-eyed man's gaze shifts from the wall to the man beside him.   
  
"Well," the former slave coughs. "I have noticed the changes in his heart and behavior. I do think that he is not a bad man deep inside. He was temporarily misguided, blinded by too much power. It is not easy to carry a tremendous responsibility such as being the chieftain of thousands of people, caring for their safety and well-being."   
  
Castiel listens attentively, not interrupting the man and silently encouraging him to carry on.   
  
"Dean has only seen battles, fights, blood and violence. He matured too early, as he didn't have any other choice. I believe all of this took a toll on him, turning him into the fierce and stern warrior that he is today. He lacked the loving and caring hand of a woman, who would tell him that there are different things too except brutality and violence. But it was to be expected as he lost his mother tragically at a very young age, and I know that the wound it left in his heart is still bleeding."   
  
Castiel almost chokes on his apple after Bessabel's words and starts to cough violently; the healer firmly pats his back 'til he's able to swallow down the hunk of fruit and take in a relieved gasp of air.   
  
"How do you know all of this?" he asks hoarsely, wiping at his mouth.  
  
"There are a few things that cannot be hidden. Truth is amongst them," Bessabel responds calmly.   
  
Castiel closes his eyes. The images of his and Dean's fight run through his mind as his memories take him back to that fateful day. Now he knows why the barbarian looked so devastated and then wrathful after Castiel insulted his mother's name.   
  
"I think I should apologize to him too," the young prince mumbles, feeling uncomfortable.   
  
"What do you mean, Your Grace?" Bessabel takes the plate out of Castiel's hands.  
  
"On that day when Dean and I fought in front of the fortress, I called his mother a whore. I do not know why I did this. Maybe just to anger him. I wish I had known it back then. Now I feel like a worthless, rude and ill-mannered creature, which can hardly be called human. I have never insulted a woman in my life. I always respected them and I don't know what overcame me. He was my enemy and rival but still, my behavior was unacceptable." Castiel heaves a pained sigh.  
  
"If you want my opinion, I agree and think that you need to apologize to him. I'm more than certain that he will accept your apologies." Bessabel squeezes the young man's hand supportively.   
  
"I wonder how my family is doing," Castiel begins when there is a knock on the door and a young woman walks in to the bedchamber.   
  
"I was sent by Dean, and he asks the prince to join him at the breakfast in an hour, if he is feeling well enough," she announces.  
  
"Tell Dean that Castiel will join him," Bessabel answers instead of the prince, allowing himself this little act of impudence.   
  
"Alright." She nods and sets a pile of things she's holding on the bed.  
  
"What are these?" Castiel asks as his gaze lands on them.   
  
"New clothes and shoes for you to wear after you take a bath, which is ready and waiting for you, Prince Castiel. Now, I need to go back to my chieftain and tell him that you will be joining him for breakfast." The woman bows respectfully, hurrying out of the chamber.   
  
"Forgive me my discourtesy," Bessabel says apologetically. "I hope you are not too angry, My Prince."  
  
"Forget about it," Castiel waves him off, checking the newly brought clothes. They are from his wardrobe. Dean surely had enough time to roam about and study all the rooms and their contents.   
  
Bessabel suddenly stands up. "Well, I'd better go, and you should start getting ready. You have a perfect chance for apologizing and you shouldn't waste it."   
  
"Yes, of course," Castiel mumbles mainly to himself, as Bessabel is already out of his chamber.   
  
He pulls the covers aside, sitting up and planting his feet firmly on the floor. The impending meeting with Dean could change a lot of things in their relationship and curiosity begins to nag him. Castiel just wants to know what he can expect after today: luck or misfortune.

After he has taken a very refreshing bath, scrubbed and removed the remains of dirt and mud on his skin, and shaved his beard, Castiel feels alive and full of energy. He puts on his clothes: black cotton trousers, an aquamarine-colored and long-sleeved tunic with scarlet embroidery at the neckline and cuffs, a golden belt with neatly carved ornaments on it, and soft leather boots.   
  
The prince adjusts his attire, brushing off imaginary dust. Why is he so concerned about his appearance? It's not like he wants to go and flirt with his captor. It's just a simple breakfast they will have together.   
  
"Alright, time to go," Castiel breathes out slowly, composing himself and heads to the hall where the table should be set already.

* * *

As it turns out Dean is there, sitting at the table and looking a little bored as he spins a spoon in his hand. He flinches when the doors of the chamber close loudly and a slightly frowning Castiel walks in.   
  
"Oh, you came. Good," Dean greets the prince. "I was beginning to think that you changed your mind and would not come."  
  
"And what if I did?" Castiel asks sharply. "Would you drag me out?" he blurts out before he has time to consider his words.   
  
To Dean's honor he decides to ignore the icy cold tone in the prince's voice.   
  
"You look good," he decides to compliment Castiel's appearance.   
  
The brunet squirms under the barbarian's burning gaze, which seems to mentally undress him. The tip of Dean's tongue flicks out, instinctively swiping over his bottom lip. Castiel feels how his face starts flushing and burning as his captor's eyes begin to darken from unconcealed lust.   
  
"Did you call me just so I could stand in the middle of the hall while you undress me with your eyes?" Castiel inquires dryly.  
  
"What?" Dean asks somewhat hoarsely. "Ah, no, of course not. Please join me at the table." Dean gestures for the young man to take a seat and when Castiel does so, he adds, "I like your tunic. It matches the color of your eyes."   
  
Castiel squints at the compliment but keeps silent, deciding to ignore the obvious flirting. He knows that he is not behaving too courteously towards Dean but he's not obliged to instantly warm up. Besides, he has a good reason to keep his distance.   
  
The breakfast passes in an awkward silence, since neither of the men says anything more. Dean seems to have lost the appetite and just stirs his porridge absentmindedly. The prince of Vali Isuria fumbles with a white napkin, waiting for this silent torture to be over.   
  
Finally, Dean raises his head, looking at the brunet intently. Castiel can see that he wants to offer something and he's not mistaken.   
  
"I would like to take a walk in the royal garden and have you accompany me."   
  
Castiel considers the barbarian's words for a few seconds and then nods.   
  
"I can do that."   
  
The brunet thinks that he will have a more suitable moment for apology in green surroundings other than in the cold four walls of the fortress.

* * *

As they walk among the rows of exotic flowers with bees happily buzzing over them, a feeling that Dean wants to tell him something important does not leave Castiel. It only increases with each step they make.  
  
"Look how carefree they seem," Dean chuckles as he gestures at the pink peonies with a couple of bees on them. "All they worry about is how to make honey and not what the rest of the world is doing."   
  
"That's not true. Bees have their own problems too," Castiel argues. "So making honey is not their only concern."   
  
Dean smiles. "Well, that sounds very fascinating. Maybe you could give me a long speech about the life of bees in the near future, but this is not the theme I want to talk about right now."   
  
Castiel stops, throwing a cautious glance at his companion. "And what do you want to talk about?"  
  
"Many things," the green-eyed man mutters. "And how I think that we started with the wrong end."  
  
"Dean," Castiel says and something in his voice alarms the young chieftain. "I heard everything you said in my bedchamber. I was not sleeping."   
  
The barbarian turns visibly pale after Castiel's confession and small beads of sweat gather above his eyebrow, but before he mumbles something unintelligible the prince cuts in, "I appreciate your words. It's a big and noble step to realize and admit when you're wrong."   
  
"Well, thank you, Cas," Dean laughs nervously, still stunned from Castiel's words.   
  
"Speaking of apologies," the brunet continues. "I am certain that I owe you one."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Dean squints his eyes 'til they look like narrow, emerald dots.   
  
"I apologize for insulting your mother's name. That was a very thoughtless, distasteful act from my side. I did not know…" Castiel hesitates. "I did not know about her fate."   
  
There is a lump in Dean's throat that's quickly swelling and making him feel like he might choke. A sharp pain stabs at his heart, constricting his chest.   
  
"Yes, that happened a long time ago. When I was five years old." Dean lets out a bitter laugh. "And I accept your apology," he adds after a short while.   
  
They continue walking in the garden, listening to birds chirping and purling of a small fountain in the middle. Both men secretly think that the surroundings are very relaxing and they don't feel as tense as before.  
  
"Where is your brother?" Castiel asks suddenly.   
  
Dean rubs his neck awkwardly. "Um, he left the fortress and moved to the camp at the hills."  
  
"I think I know the reason," Castiel can't help it when the corner of his mouth twitches into a small smile.   
  
"Yes, well…" Dean does not know how to respond.   
  
"Would you like him to come back?"   
  
"Of course, but I think he will need more than just my words for persuasion," the barbarian huffs, shaking his head. "He's more stubborn than I."  
  
Castiel considers the spoken words, weighing the options before making his offer:   
  
"I can go with you to the settlement and assist in that task."   
  
Dean's heart thunders against his chest, blood rushing fast through his veins as excitement overtakes him.   
  
"That would be a very generous move from your side, and I would greatly appreciate it."  
  
"Very well then," Castiel states matter-of-factly. "We will go tomorrow in the morning."   
  
Dean smiles to himself, amused by the prince's 'I-am-the-one-in-charge-here' tone, but if it helps him get his brother back then he won't object.   
  
"Sounds perfect, Cas. Thank you," Dean adds with gratitude in his voice.   
  
Maybe the heir to the throne is not as arrogant as he thought in the beginning after all.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaand here we go, my friends ;)

"Bessabel, do you think my actions are rightful?" Castiel asks doubtfully while sitting on his bed and fumbling with one of the pompoms of the bed cover.

"Which actions, My Prince? Today's or in general?" The healer finishes lacing up and adjusting the light leather armor on Castiel's back.

"Today's," the prince clarifies. "At that time I thought it would've been a nice gesture to help Dean get his brother back to the fortress, but I am not sure anymore. I do not know if it's the right thing to do."

"Well, as I've mentioned before and if you listen to my advice, I do think that you are on a right path. You and Dean need to smooth and improve your relationship and this thing you're doing is a good step toward reconciling. All done, My Prince." Bessabel nods to himself, satisfied with his work.

Castiel sighs. "Alright. Let us hope that this is not a mistake which I will regret for the rest of my life."

Bessabel draws some strange signs in the air which as Castiel assumes are for his protection. "May the gods protect and save you from evil."

"Thank you." The young man gives him a brief smile and stands up. "Time to go."

* * *

Magnus is surprised when Dean asks him to go with him to the settlement. It's been a while since the green-eyed barbarian had asked him for his assistance. As he and Dean walk out of the fortress Castiel is already standing in the courtyard, patting a snorting horse and murmuring some words into its ear.

"It's a lovely morning, isn't it, Cas?" Dean greets him with a broad grin. He's in a great mood which does not go unnoticed by the prince.

"There's nothing lovely about it. It's cold and the rain will start soon," Castiel answers grumpily.

"Oh, don't be so sour. You look like as if you just ate a full basket of lemons," Dean chuckles, approaching his horse.

"Prince Castiel," Magnus bows as he greets the heir to the throne.

"Good morning, Magnus," the brunet returns the greeting.

"If you're done with all that courtesy crap, could we go already?" Dean's impatience lets itself show.

Castiel throws him an icy-cold glance before mounting his horse. "You need to work on your civility. Someone should give you lessons in good manners."

Magnus shifts awkwardly, waiting for an inevitable disaster to follow, as Dean does not allow anyone to talk to him with that chiding tone. Surprisingly it does not happen.

Dean simply clenches his jaws, restraining himself. "You talk too much, Castiel."

These simple five words remind Castiel that he is playing with fire and he may get burned severely if he is not cautious.

No one talks on the way to the settlement. The air is charged with a tangible tension and awkwardness. Magnus keeps shifting his gaze from his chieftain to the prince. In his spoiled mood, Dean looks like a thunderous, stormy cloud. As for Castiel, the young man is antsy, obviously feeling guilty for his earlier words.

Magnus lets out a sigh of relief when they reach the feet of the hills where the settlement lies. The people who live there have not wasted their time in vain: small but neat huts are lined up in long rows just like mushrooms after the summer rain, and cattle are pasturing on braes, mooing and swooshing away pesky flies.

"Looks like the life here is not standing still," Magnus breaks the silence which has become unbearable, throwing a cautious glance at Dean. To his relief the barbarian's frown has started to disappear and a glint of happiness returned to his green eyes.

"So, this is where your people live?"

A sudden question from Castiel makes the two men turn their heads towards the asker. The prince of Vali Isuria is contemplating the surroundings with a great interest.

"Yes. This is where Battle Shadows lives," Dean confirms.

"It's nice," Castiel says. "I like it," he adds, turning his head to look at Dean.

"We should… we should go and take a closer look," the barbarian clears his throat, momentarily confused after getting lost in the gaze of Castiel's blue eyes.

"And find your brother," Castiel adds, smiling.

"Yes, and that too," Dean returns the smile, feeling a heavy burden fall off of his chest.

* * *

As they make their way through the cheering crowd, Castiel notes to himself that Dean is much loved and respected by his people. Everyone tries to touch and share a word or two with their young chieftain, thank him for the kept promise and easy life they have now.

Dean laughs heartily, shares jokes with people, listens about their problems or needs and promises to assist, ensuring that everything will be well. And his people believe him, knowing that the older son of John the Slayer has never deceived them before, therefore there's no need for concern that he won't keep his word.

Dean is a little surprised and hurt that his younger brother has not showed up to see him. As one of the men has told him Sam is at the camp, in his tent. With slight resentment the young chieftain and his companions head towards Sam's tent. Magnus and Castiel decide to stay outside while the older Winchester walks inside and calls his brother's name.

Dean frowns slightly and stops in his tracks when he hears muffled moans from the depth of the tent.

"Sam?" he calls louder, walking to the direction where the noise is coming from. But nothing can prepare him for the view that awaits him.

"Oh, fuck," Dean grunts, turning away quickly. "For the love of the gods, Sam!"

Completely buck-ass naked, Sam Winchester is in the middle of intense lovemaking with a fair-haired girl, who writhes under the young man's solid and muscled frame, moaning his name. But as soon as the lovers hear unexpected voice above their heads they yelp startled, ceasing all their activities.

"Dean? What are you doing here?" Sam quickly stands up, covering himself with one of the pillows.

"I-I just came to see and…" Dean hesitates. "You know what, Sam? I will be outside. You two can finish what you were doing. I'm not in a hurry. I'm sorry that I interrupted you." He quickly leaves the tent.

"Is he there?" Magnus asks his chieftain, as soon as Dean appears.

"Um, yes he is. Bad timing," the green-eyed man laughs, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

"What do you mean?" Castiel tilts his head slightly.

But before Dean answers him, Sam walks out of the tent, lacing up his shirt. A disheveled hair and slightly reddened face explain better than any words.

"Oh," Castiel says knowingly, fidgeting on the spot.

"Prince Castiel?" Sam asks puzzled, not expecting to see him there at all. "Magnus, you're here too. What's happening?" The young man stares at the three men. "Is everything alright?"

Dean puts a hand on his brothers' shoulder. "Calm down, everything is perfect. I wanted to ask you to come back to the fortress," he adds quietly.

"What are Castiel and Magnus doing here?" Sam inquires instead of answering Dean.

"Castiel volunteered to come with me in case you would refuse," Dean answers with a laugh. "As for Magnus, he will help the camp for a while if they need any medicine or healing."

"Dean realized his mistakes and needs you to come back to the fortress," Castiel says, deciding to assist the barbarian in his task.

Sam purses his lips, thinking about the decision he's about to make.

"Alright," he adds after a short while. "I will come back to the fortress, but only on one condition."

"Anything you want," Dean says enthusiastically.

"She comes with me too," Sam nods towards the tent. "It's alright, Dear. You can come out," he calls gently.

A beautiful young girl with blonde hair walks out, throwing alarmed glances at the men before her. She stands beside Sam and when he wraps his strong arm around her waist and leans into the touch, pressing herself against her beloved's side.

"This is Jess," Sam announces. "And we love each other."

"As if it was not obvious," Dean laughs but not mockingly.

"Jess, this is my brother Dean, Magnus, and I suppose you already know who this young man is?" Sam looks fondly at her as he asks about Castiel.

"Nice to meet you, my lords," Jess bows respectfully. "I am very happy to see you alive My Prince," she adds sincerely. "The gods have listened to mine and my family's prayers for your continued well-being."

"Thank you. You are very kind," Castiel says deeply touched.

After Sam and Jess gather their things, Dean instructs Magnus what to do and only after that they leave the settlement of Battle Shadows.

* * *

For the following ten days Castiel makes friends with Sam and Jess. The younger Winchester is softer and friendlier than his older sibling and the prince of Vali Isuria feels comfortable in his presence. As for Jess, she is the kindest and gentlest soul Castiel has ever seen. He thinks that she and Sam make a great couple.

The trio spends their time together quite often, which makes the older Winchester broody and quite jealous. He feels a little hurt when Castiel prefers Sam's and Jess' company over his. To hide his frustrations Dean often goes and locks himself in the training hall, exercising until he's on the verge of exhaustion and all of his limbs and muscles are aching.

It's late at night and Bessabel is heading towards the royal garden in preparation for his prayer to the moon deity when he walks into Dean, who seems to walk about aimlessly.

"Dean?" the healer asks worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I just could not sleep." Dean rubs his tired eyes.

"Why? What's bothering you?"

"It's stupid," the green-eyed man chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm having some strange nightmares."

"When did they start? And what are they about?" Bessabel asks, deciding that the prayer can wait for a few more minutes.

"Four or five days ago. The nightmares are vague. I see them like a flash of lightning. Only bits and pieces, not the whole picture. But they are always the same. The only things that I remember are Castiel and crosses. There are a lot of crosses." Dean's voice drops down.

"Castiel and crosses," Bessabel repeats.

"Yes," Dean nods. "He looks different, wears different clothes and a laurel tiara but it's still him. Oh, and one more thing. I always wake up when I hear myself shouting a strange name - Cassius."

"Hm," Bessabel hums unintelligibly, sensing that they may be dealing with something more mystic than just a simple nightmare. "I will give you some mixtures that should help you sleep better," he promises the younger man.

"Thank you," Dean says tiredly. "I will go and read something or chat with the guards. Good night, Bessabel."

"Good night, Dean." The healer bows and resumes his walk.

Bessabel intends to go to the fountain in the middle of the royal garden where he can pray to the moon deity, looking at its reflection in the shimmering water.

"My Prince?" the man asks, confused when he notices Castiel standing at the fountain with his back towards him. "What are you doing here?"

"I could not sleep," Castiel turns around. "Hello, Bessabel."

"What's the matter? What chased away your sleep?" the former slave's voice sounds strained.

"Strange dreams," Castiel responds briefly.

"What are they about?" Bessabel is certain that his prince will mention nightmares. And of course he's right!

"Just some silly nightmares."

"Please tell me about them, I may be able to help." Bessabel follows suit and sits down next to the brunet.

"I see crosses everywhere. There is a long row of crosses along the road. I can hear a deafening croaking of ravens as they go round above them. I swear, I can even sense horrifying smell of decaying corpses on the crosses, though they are blurry and I can't see them clearly. But…" Castiel falls silent, and Bessabel notices even in the darkness that the young man's hands are shaking.

"But what?" he asks gently, putting a hand on the prince's back.

"There is only one cross visible with a dying man on it. And I know the man." Castiel lets out a shuddering breath.

"Who is it, My Prince?" Bessabel asks though he is sure he already knows the answer to his question.

"Dean. It's Dean." Castiel turns to face the healer. "And he keeps looking at me in the eyes, wheezing and calling me a different name."

"Which is?" Bessabel whispers.

"Cassius."

Bessabel closes his eyes, listening to the rushing of the blood in his ears. Maybe he has much bigger role in the whole mess that is Dean's and Castiel's strange relationship.

May the gods help him, because he is about to open the forbidden door.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone understands after the cliffhanger at the end what awaits you (Cas) in next chapter :P
> 
> Next update on Friday, July 31-st.

"Bessabel, is everything alright? Why did you ask us to come here?" Dean asks with a furrowed brow. Both he and Castiel are in the royal garden, sitting at the fountain and staring at the concerned-looking healer who's pacing anxiously before them.

Bessabel exhales sharply. "I apologize for disturbing you, but I wouldn't have done it if the matters were not important and urgent."

"Could you explain it to us?" Castiel inquires gently.

"Of course, My Prince. May I know if you have talked to each other about your recurring dreams, or nightmares, as you call them?" Bessabel stops walking, staring at the young men.

"No, we haven't," Dean responds, throwing a sideways glance at Castiel. "Why?"

"I believe we are dealing with something more serious than we suspected." The healer takes a place beside Castiel, who looks very puzzled.

"What do you mean?" There are notes of worry in the young chieftain's voice.

"You are having the same nightmares, with identical details which make me think that you have met before," Bessabel answers calmly.

"Before? Like when?" both men ask simultaneously.

"In your past lives," the healer clarifies. "And if you consent we can find out if it's true."

"How is that even possible?" Castiel huffs.

"My Prince, I am not only a healer," Bessabel smiles. "You are forgetting that I am a sorcerer as well."

"Huh, you never cease to surprise me," Dean chuckles. "Well, you have my consent. You have me very intrigued."

"Thank you," Bessabel bows. "How about you, My Prince?"

Castiel nods after a short silence. "Alright. I agree. But what should we do?"

"I need both of you to come with me to my chamber. It's isolated from the rest of the fortress and quiet. No one will disturb us there. I will do whatever is necessary to reveal the truth." Bessabel stands up, looking at them expectantly.

Soon, the secrets will be found out. At least he hopes so.

* * *

Bessabel's chamber is a small, quiet room with a lot of interesting things in it. There are a lot of bowls, jars, dried herbs on shelves, various animal's or birds' skins and bones hang from the ceiling. The only furniture consists of a double-size bed, a wooden table and a chair.

Dean and Castiel both sit on the bed, watching the healer fuss over a clay bowl, in which he puts different ingredients.

"It's almost ready. Now, I need a few drops of blood from both of you," he turns to the two men.

"Of course."

Without any hesitation both Dean and Castiel cut their thumbs and add their blood to the bowl according to Bessabel's request.

The healer gestures to them to go back and sit on the bed while he reads an incantation over the bowl in his hands:

"I summon thee, protector and ruler of time, child of eternity with the gaze of thousand suns. Lift the veil of darkness, let the souls through the maze of memories, show what's hidden and forbidden from the mortals' eyes, save and protect them on their journey to the world of the dead." Bessabel's voice rings loud in the chamber, causing unwilling chills to the two men, whose hearts begin to pound faster.

"You need to drink it. Each of you must take seven sips. Then lay down and let the servants of Dronghazzar take you to the other world. Do not fight against the pulling sensations. Let them do their work. You will wake up when you see everything that you need. May you be protected from all evil on your journey." The healer hands the bowl to Castiel who drinks the sweet tasting liquid and hands it over to Dean.

"Good, now lay down and wait. I will be here when you wake up." Bessabel gives the final instructions, watching the young men fidget for a while and then laying down.

As the seconds pass Dean's and Castiel's eyes flutter shut and their breaths become deeper, more relaxed, 'till the both men sink into the turmoil of deeply buried memories in their subconsciousness.

* * *

_The shadows of thirty-one gladiators sneak out of the barracks into the silent yard. The door creaks and closes behind them. The yard is eerily silent, which is very suspicious. There are no guards, not even a random servant or a slave around._

_"Quintus, I don't like this. Where is Marcus? He said that he wouldn't interfere in our business but where is he or anyone else?" Hargo asks, confused and trying to understand what is happening._

_"I don't know, Hargo. I don't know." Quintus makes a few cautious steps, gripping his sword tightly. "I need half of the group to stay here and take care of the situation if they appear and try to attack. Meanwhile I and the rest of the group will go inside the house to cap…"_  
_Quintus is interrupted by loud shouts of the soldiers attacking them from every corner of the yard._

_"We will take care of it. You, go!" Bricius yells at Quintus. "Go find that son of a bitch!"_

_Quintus with his fifteen fellow gladiators run towards the house leaving screams, roaring, cursing, and terrible clashing sounds behind their backs. He throws one glance at the scene to see how his friends are surrounded by at least forty soldiers, but they look like lions amongst rabbits. One by one the rows of the attackers lessen, piling up the dead bodies at the feet of the gladiators in the puddles of blood._

_Quintus is afraid that the doors will be locked when they reach the house, but he is wrong; Amynthia has managed to unlock them._

_They clash into the first small group of the guards, right at the door as soon as they run into the house. It doesn't take the gladiators a long time to deal with them and the soldiers fall down on the floor with slits across their throats. Soon after the screams of woken servants and slaves fill the house and more soldiers start to appear at hearing the horrible noises._

_"Quintus, go find Cassius. We will hold them off!" Judoc shouts at his friend, blocking the strike of his rival._

_"I can't lea…" Quintus begins but Hargo cuts in._

_"Go!" he yells at the younger man and Quintus nods._

_"Don't you dare die! I will be back soon," he tells his friends and grabs one of the dazed soldiers, who's lying on the floor moaning in pain. "Show me your master's chamber, dog!" Quintus drags the man along._

_The guard, frightened for his life, obeys and leads the way to Cassius' bed chamber. They stop in front one of the doors and the man points at it:_

_"He's there."_

_"Thank you!" Quintus quickly knocks him out by punching him hard in the jaw._

_The green-eyed man carefully opens the door and steps inside the room. The chamber is lit dimly by a single oil lamp but it's enough for Quintus to notice a sleeping body in the bed behind transparent curtains. He quickly but inaudibly reaches the bed, pointing the tip of the sword at the sleeping man._

_"Get up!" he says loudly and very clearly._

_The sleeping body jolts slightly but doesn't obey. It keeps silent and unmoving._

_"Cassius Valerius Martialis, I said GET UP you son of a bitch!" Quintus raises his voice, not shifting his gaze from the body wrapped up in soft blankets._

_"P-please…" A broken whisper. "Please don't hurt me."_

_Quintus flinches. It doesn't sound like Cassius' voice at all. He quickly grabs the blankets and yanks them down. The young man gasps; whoever is lying in the bed is not Cassius._

_"Who are you and where is Cassius?" Quintus demands angrily._

_"I-I'm Androcles, one of the servants. He asked me to stay in this bed while he'd be gone," the boy answers with a shaking voice._

_"And where did he go?" Quintus has a very bad feeling but he desperately hopes he is wrong._

_"To see senator Claudius Acilius."_

_The words sound like a clap of thunder and Quintus reels. Cassius had been informed about their escape and is gone to take necessary measures: bring reinforcement to the villa._

_"Get out. And hide if you want to live," the gladiator rasps out and storms out of the chamber to find his friends and tell them about the danger._

_When he returns to the place where he's left Judoc and Hargo, Quintus sees that out of his fifteen friends there are only eight left, including Judoc and the Ethiopian gladiator. A few resisting guards are still alive and Quintus quickly takes care of them, adding their lifeless bodies to the mutilated pile on the floor._

_"We've been betrayed. Marcus told Cassius about our escape and the bastard is gone to bring reinforcements. We need to hurry up!"_

_They rush out in the yard to join the first half of the group which they've left at the barracks. The fight is still going on. There are a lot of dead from both sides. Quintus notices Bricius' dead body, covered in multiple wounds; Alirick is alive but barely standing, clutching his bleeding side. Out of fifteen gladiators only ten are alive, which makes eighteen living warriors in total._

_"Marcus took our money but informed Cassius about our plan. He's probably marching towards us with the reinforcements. We need to run right now!" Quintus shouts, while beheading one of the guards with one powerful strike._

_"Have you seen Amynthia? I am not leaving without her!" Alirick exclaims anxiously._

_Before anyone answers his question, the northern gates of the villa collapse with a horrendous noise, massive iron chains falling to the ground with a loud, rattling sound._

_Eighteen gladiators freeze in shock: Cassius is sitting on a black mare, riding beside the commander of the centuria sent by the senator Acillius for his assistance._

_The procession stops in the yard, staring at the rebels. The commander of the centuria is waiting for the host's order._

_"Kill them all!" Cassius says briefly before moving out of their way._

_Besides his heart beating wildly and blood rushing rapidly through his veins, there is one more sound that Quintus hears: the sounds of drawing bows before they release death-bringing arrows._

_"RUN!" The inhuman voice that fills the night air belongs to Quintus Atticus, one of the best gladiators of Martialis' ludus._

_Cassius brushes off some imaginary dust from his tunic and leaves all the deafening sounds behind, walking towards his house and singing something merrily under his nose. Not once turning to the massacre going on in the yard, Cassius enters his villa, walks amongst corpses, finds wine and a goblet and goes to the pool._

_Taking off his clothes and throwing them on the mosaic floor, the young man steps into the pool, lowers himself into the pleasant water and rests his strong, muscled arms on the edges. He takes a sip from the goblet, lets out a sigh of relief and closes his eyes. After a few seconds Cassius Valerius Martialis throws his head back and laughs._

* * *

_The yard is full of dead or dying soldiers and gladiators, sending curses to the owner of the house._

_Cassius walks beside the commander of the soldiers, checking bodies with the poke of a spear. Almost all the guards of the villa had been killed in the massacre, plus a few slaves and servants._

_"Commander." A young soldier approaches the centurion and the host of the villa. "We found some gladiators who are still alive. What will be the order? Should we kill them?"_

_"How many are there?" Cassius asks suddenly._

_"We counted ten men alive," responds the soldier._

_"Cassius?" The centurion turns towards the host. "What would you like us to do with them?"_

_The young man falls silent. His cold blue-eyes narrow in concentration. Then his lips quirk into an evil smirk and he says:_

_"I want them to die a slow death. I want them to feel how painful it is, to turn their every moment into unbearable torture. Crucify them!"_

_Quintus, Judoc and Eurimachos are amongst the remaining gladiators. Hargo had died a few hours ago. His body had been wounded by many arrows but the huge gladiator had still kept fighting, until someone's thrown spear smashed his ribcage and pierced right through his heart._

_Quintus has lost blood from numerous wounds and is half conscious, not understanding what is happening around him, when horrible screams and sounds of hammering fill the yard. His vision is blurry and he's coughing up blood, not quite realizing that these are the screams of his friends who are being crucified because of their failed mission._

_Quintus doesn't fight against the hands which drag him. Realization of the horrible truth dawns on him when he feels excruciating pain in his palm as the hammer pierces a nail through his hand. A desperate shout is ripped out of his lungs and he tries to struggle but too many hands hold him in place while the hammer continues its work. As much as he wants to bear the pain it's impossible to do so and Quintus' yells of pain join the rest of the screams and shouts sounding in the yard._

_"Take them out of the yard. I don't want to breathe their stench and hear their screams. Drag them outside the yard and drive the crosses in along the way towards the Ianus' temple," Cassius says with hatred. He turns around to call a servant but stops, as idea comes to his mind._

_"I hope you are happy," he says mockingly as he looks down at crucified Quintus. "Did you really think that I would be so stupid that I wouldn't find out about your dirty intentions? This is where you belong. This is the fate you deserve, filthy whore," Cassius snarls and spits into the gladiator's face._

_Quintus' lips tremble from rage, agonizing pain forgotten for a moment and he raises his head, looking in the eyes of his tormentor._

_"Pray to all existing gods that I won't find you in your next life. Start praying right now and never stop, because if… no… when I find you…" Quintus wheezes and coughs out more blood, "…you will wish you'd never been born."_

_Cassius' face turns pale and clenches his fists after hearing such impudent words but quickly regains his composure._

_"Take them out. I don't want to see their ugly faces," he orders quickly. "Andronicus, come with me. Let's get inside the house," he tells the centurion, inviting him inside the villa._

_The soldiers begin to drag the crosses out of the yard as the two men keep walking towards the door of the villa._

_After two hours ten crosses with dead or dying gladiators are set on the road near the Martialis' villa._

* * *

Castiel is the first one who wakes up with a hoarse, desperate shout. It's so loud and blood-curdling that Bessabel jumps up from his chair, startled. Dean jolts awake with a loud gasp, his eyes roaming about the chamber wildly.

"My Prince?" Bessabel wants to go and comfort Castiel, to tell him that it's all over, but the young man looks terrified.

"I'm a monster! I'm a monster," he chokes out a sob, falling off the bed and crawling to the corner like he intends to hide there.

"Castiel?" Dean throws an alarmed glance at the heir to the throne and swallows hard when he sees Castiel rocking back and forth with his arms around his knees, whimpering and shaking.

"I am a monster. I don't deserve to live," the brunet cries out and it breaks something in Dean's heart. He stands up and wants to go to Castiel but the blue-eyed man gives him a pleading look.

"Please don't touch me. No, please, don't."

"I… I just wanted to…" Dean stops, not sure what to say or do.

"Dean, what happened?" Bessabel asks extremely worried and confused.

The chieftain of Battle Shadows stands motionless like a cold, lifeless statue before mumbling a single word:

"Later."

With a paled face Dean Winchester walks out of the chamber, leaving Bessabel and Castiel behind.

After the incident Castiel does not speak to anyone for days. Most of the time he spends locked in his chamber. He avoids everyone: Dean, Bessabel, Sam and even Jess.

The prince's mind is full of turmoil, his heart and soul turned upside down, the whole being shaken and broken. He roams about his chamber aimlessly, like a lost ghost, desperately seeking for a solution. And it comes to him on the fourth night.

"If someone treats you badly, hurts your feelings with their words or actions, perhaps you insulted them in another life." Uldred's words sound clearly in Castiel's mind, making the young man stop and gasp in surprise. "The best way to redeem yourself is to give them what they want."

Castiel turns around and faces himself in the mirror. The young man closes his eyes, counting to ten inaudibly. Then, one by one, piece by piece he begins to get rid of his clothes, 'till he's standing stark naked.

Castiel takes a good, thorough look at his body before taking out a light green silk robe, and puts it on. The cold, smooth fabric feels soothing against his burning hot skin.

It's late at night and the corridor is empty when he leaves his chamber. Usually he would be sleeping at this time but the circumstances are different.

He needs to see someone urgently.

Someone with green eyes and a smug smile.

Someone whose forgiveness he is seeking so much.

Someone whose name is Dean Winchester.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like the chappie! Enjoy.
> 
> Manip done by Irensupernatural

                                                                          

Trapped between the four walls of his chamber, Dean feels like suffocating. Too many chaotic thoughts roll through his mind, driving him insane. The truth that's been revealed by Bessabel's help is truly shocking, and it should make him hate Castiel with his whole being, but the green-eyed barbarian just can't bring himself to do it. The brunet's helpless, terrified expression when he realized his role in their past lives had convinced Dean that he would never be able to raise a hand to Castiel for it.  
  
To calm himself a little and clear his head, Dean decides to take a bath. After filling up a wooden bathtub with lukewarm water the young chieftain of Battle Shadows crawls into it, surrendering to the instant relaxing effect the heat has on his body. He inhales the minty flavor of herbs thrown into it, grabbing the edge of the bathtub and shifting into more comfortable position. He rests his head against the wood, the glistening water droplets that cover his chest sparkling brightly with each breath he takes. The small crease between his brows smooths out as his mind finally stops replaying the disturbing images pulled out of his subconscious.   
  
Dean does not know how long he's been in the bathtub, enjoying the silence around him when there's a suspicious rustling noise, as if someone's sneaking into the chamber.   
  
"Who's here?" Dean sits up, squinting and looking around in to the semi-darkness of the chamber. There's no reply but the older Winchester's perfect hearing can catch the notes of heavy, subdued breathing, as if someone's trying to hold their breath but failing.   
  
"I know you're here. I can hear your labored breathing. Show yourself!" the young man demands, his hand instinctively reaching for his unsheathed sword lying near the bathtub.   
  
After a few seconds of silence a figure steps into the dim candlelight.  
  
"Cas?" Dean gapes at the prince, who looks so pale that it's noticeable even in the dark. "What are you doing here?"   
  
"I-I…" Castiel stammers, his throat clicking as he swallows hard. He looks around in search of answers, for the right words of what to say to Dean, but nothing comes to his confused mind.   
  
"Did you want something? And… and why are you barefooted?" Dean asks slowly, as his gaze falls on Castiel's feet.   
  
The prince feels how panic spreads its roots through his body. His mouth is opening and closing like a fish cast ashore, every nerve and cell screams at him to say or do something, anything! And he breaks.   
  
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Dean. Please, forgive me. Please!" Castiel keeps repeating frantically as his fingers begin to unlace the robe he's wearing. It falls down on the floor with a soft rustling, pooling around Castiel's feet 'til the brunet is standing stark naked in front of the barbarian who has suddenly forgotten how to breathe.   
  
Dean blinks, slowly rising and coming out of the bathtub. The drops of water are running down his chiseled body, strong arms, chest and legs as he makes a few steps towards Castiel who blushes furiously and averts his eyes when he notices the half-hard cock of the man before him.   
  
By this time Dean has realized why Castiel has come to him: the guilt is eating him and the poor man's soul is on fire. But he needs to hear it from Castiel!  
  
"Why did you come, Cas?" he asks again, cautiously, not wanting to frighten the younger man.   
  
"I wanted to see you," the brunet mumbles, and it's true.   
  
"For what?" Dean circles him, noticing how tensed Castiel looks; his shoulders and back are like a drawn bow.   
  
"I thought… I realized that I feel something for you too."   
  
Dean lets out a small laugh at Castiel's words.   
  
"No, Cas. You came here to offer me your body, hoping you would redeem yourself by doing so. But you forgot one thing." The green-eyed man touches Castiel's chin with two fingers, lifting it up so they're looking into each other's eyes.   
  
"Which is?" the prince asks hoarsely, his heart leaping into his throat after realizing that Dean does not buy his lie.   
  
"You're doing this because you feel guilty. Would you still do it if the circumstances were different?" Dean murmurs, tracing his fingers down Castiel's neck, touching his rapidly beating pulse tenderly.  
  
"I-I don't know. I've never… I've never done it before," Castiel admits reluctantly.   
  
"You mean with a man?" Dean asks gently. Instead of an answer he gets a flustered and mortified look.  
  
"Really?" The barbarian stares at Castiel, bewildered.  
  
"I have kissed a lady before but I've never gone farther than that. I never had time for it. I was busy with more important things." The prince tries to justify his innocence but the only thing he achieves is making himself feel like a complete fool.   
  
"Relax," Dean tells him with a gentle laugh, sensing the young man's discomfort. "I am not judging you. And I want you to know one thing. I am not going to hate you for who you were in the past. It was not really you who did those things. Would I kill past you? Gods, yes! I would claw Cassius' rotten heart out and make him eat it! But you, Castiel, son of King Uldred, are innocent, and I want you to know that I do not blame or hold a grudge against you. You have nothing to beg forgiveness for."  
  
Castiel's eyes begin to sting and water after Dean's words. He feels like he'd been underwater for too long and his lungs were screaming for air, and suddenly he's been pulled out.  
  
"Thank you, Dean," he says sincerely, voice full of gratitude. And before the green-eyed man responds, Castiel lunges forward and hugs him.   
  
Dean lets out a small shocked gasp before chuckling and returning the hug, enveloping the brunet in the firm circle of his arms.   
  
The scent of melted wax and minty herbs from the water mixed with Dean's own natural musk make Castiel's mind swim. The warm flesh pressed tightly against him, leaving a wet trace on his thigh, stirs something odd and primal into the brunet's soul and soon he realizes that it's desire. Dean's rapidly beating heart and the hot breath against his neck make Castiel shudder and lean his head against Dean's shoulder. He realizes how much he yearns for closeness with this man.   
  
"Cas?" Dean asks questioningly, catching the signs of interest from the smaller man. To test his doubts, the barbarian slides his palm down Castiel's spine, gently and gingerly, 'till it rests on the prince's waist.   
  
Castiel makes a choked sound in the back of his throat at the contact, feeling the desire to touch and be touched by Dean grow in intensity.  
  
"Dean," he pleads quietly.   
  
"Yes? Tell me what you want," Dean whispers as he nips at the brunet's earlobe.   
  
"I-I want… I need…" Castiel mumbles, getting lost in his sensations. "Please touch me."  
  
This is all the encouragement the young chieftain needs. He takes Castiel's hand, squeezing it slightly.  
  
"Come with me," he tells the brunet, guiding him towards the bed. "I want to show you the pleasurable sides of this life which you've been lacking, but only if you want it. Do you want it, Cas? This is your last chance to refuse." Dean studies the younger man's face.  
  
After a short silence Castiel nods, slow but determined. "Yes, I want it."   
  
"Alright. We will take it slow then," Dean says hoarsely. "Sit on the bed."

* * *

Castiel feels like screaming from everything that he's feeling and seeing. Dean is kneeling between his open thighs, the hot and velvety tongue licking and teasing his swollen cock as it drips with precum. Castiel is biting his fist to hold back the sounds that want to rip through his mouth, unable to keep still on the bed sheets as he thrashes around. 

"Don't," Dean growls. "I want to hear those pretty sounds which you make. Tell me, do you like my mouth on you?"   
  
"Yes… yes… ah… Dean…" Castiel moans brokenly as his hand comes to rest on Dean's head and he bucks his hips up into the welcoming wet heat that is the green-eyed barbarian's mouth.   
  
Dean takes his time, ravishing and taking apart Castiel piece by piece. His hands reach up to Castiel's sides, fingers raking down his ribs, leaving pink lines stretching towards the brunet's thighs that are opened helplessly and wantonly welcoming. They seem unable to stop quivering from the downpour of feelings and consuming sensations delivered by the skillful mouth, which currently is sucking at the head of Castiel's cock.   
  
Placing his warm palms against Castiel's thighs and digging his fingers in to the sweat-soaked skin, Dean inhales the musky scent before taking the erect flesh into his mouth again, hollowing out his cheeks to resume sucking.  
  
Castiel's fingers scratch the bed sheets desperately, feeling a warm pressure building up in the pit of his stomach. His orgasm is approaching like a crashing wave and there's nothing that can stop it.   
  
"Dean!" Castiel exclaims brokenly. "I-I'm close. I can't… I can't hold it back!"   
  
"Good. Let me see it. Let me see you come for me, Cas," Dean murmurs, biting the inside of Castiel's thigh and it's too much.   
  
Castiel, who looks like a butterfly caught in the spider web, arches his back off the bed, feeling his whole body burning like fire. The prince moans something brokenly, combined with a loud whimper as he empties himself down Dean's throat in thick white spurts.   
  
Dean gladly swallows every drop, licking the sensitive head afterwards. He neglects his own throbbing erection, stretching and towering above Castiel's wrecked and exhausted body.   
  
"How are you feeling? Was it enjoyable?" the older Winchester asks.  
  
Castiel is panting, his lips are parted, and his hair disheveled and sweaty, small strands sticking to his forehead. The brunet's eyes flutter open to meet Dean's expectant gaze.   
  
"Yes, it was very enjoyable. I didn't know it would feel so pleasurable," the blue-eyed man says with a blissful expression on his face.   
  
"I'm glad you approve of my skills," Dean laughs heartily.   
  
Castiel sits up, leaning on his elbows and giving Dean a somewhat concerned look. "I believe I should return the favor and help you…with your problem." His gaze falls on Dean's crotch and his neglected cock. "I may not know how to do it properly but I will try my best to please you."   
  
Dean shakes his head. "No, it's alright. Don't worry about it," he assures the prince. "Tonight is all about you. Not me."  
  
Castiel does not respond, thinking about everything that has happened lately.   
  
"What are you thinking about?" Dean's voice drags Castiel out of his thoughts.   
  
"Maybe not today, but I certainly will return the favor." The brunet's intense gaze makes Dean shift nervously.   
  
"Cas," he begins. "I do not want you to feel obliged to do something that you do not want to do. Just because you feel you have to do something does not mean you should."  
  
"I don't understand," Castiel squints with a puzzled expression.   
  
"To put it simply, do not come to me just because you think you owe me. Come to me only if your heart tells you to." Dean stands up and before going to the bathtub to pick up his towel, adds: "Only if you will want me."   
  
None of them speak for a while, 'til the silence and tension get tangible and uncomfortable.   
  
"I should go," Castiel mumbles finally, picking up his silk robe and wrapping himself in it.   
  
"Yes, it's late," Dean agrees, not knowing what else to say.   
  
"Good night, Dean," the prince tells him before leaving the barbarian's bedchamber with quiet footsteps.   
  
"Good night. Sleep well, Cas," Dean responds, watching the younger man walking out into the corridor.  
  
As soon as the door closes after Castiel, the chieftain of Battle Shadows slams his fist against the wall in frustrated rage as the words " _Please don't go!_ " echo like screams in his mind.

 


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see from the image there's more delicious smut in this chapter ;)
> 
> The manip is done by Irensupernatural.

                                  

_Stubble scratching the soft skin of his parted thighs._

_Warm palms and fingertips drawing abstract lines on his flesh._

_Hot breath and filthy, yet arousing words murmured into his ear._

_Wicked tongue worshiping his fully erect cock, dripping with precum._

_His own moans and pleas lingering in the bedchamber cast in the dim light of the fading candles._

_Wildly bucking hips into the wet tightness of a welcoming mouth._

_"Come to me only if your heart tells you to. Only if you will want me"._

Castiel removes the bed cover from his body, throwing it aside. His moves are frantic and frustrated. The recent events replay in his mind and the young man buries his face in his hands.

He knows that he is falling. He's falling hard and fast. As soon as he'd let Dean touch him in unimaginable ways Castiel knew that he would never be the same.

* * *

"Sam, that is not fair! You were cheating!" a girl shouts with feigned indignation. "You saw where I was going to hide!"

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry." Sam's whole body shakes from laughter as he wraps his big arms around a tiny blonde's frame, pulling her out from behind a red rose bush. "Do you want me to count once more?"

"No, I'm a little tired of this game," the girl responds, snuggling against the young man as if seeking comfort in his broad chest.

"Alright, Jess, as you wish." Sam kisses her forehead, his hazel eyes shining with fondness and the tender feelings he holds for the girl.

"I think we should go inside. It'll be dinner time soon."

"You are right."

On the way toward the entrance Jess suddenly stops, and Sam feels how her palm which he's holding gets cold and sweaty.

"Jess?" the young man asks worriedly, turning to face his beloved.

"Sam… I think… I think I am ill," the girl mutters and before she adds something more, her slender body sways and if not for the younger Winchester would have fallen on the ground.

"Jess! Hey! Hey, look at me!" Sam panics, slapping her slightly in the face to bring back to consciousness but there's no reaction.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Sam presses her limp body to his chest and runs forgetting about everything else.

"Help! Somebody help me!" Sam yells as he rushes in to the hall, looking utterly lost and confused.

"What's happening? Why are you yelling, Sam?" Dean asks from behind his back. But then his gaze falls upon Jess' body in his brother's arms and the young chieftain gasps aloud.

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know. We were in the garden, playing hide-and-seek and as we decided to return to the fortress she fainted on the way." Sam's eyes glisten with tears. "What if it's serious, Dean? I can't lose her!"

"Calm down. Magnus is still at the settlement but we have Bessabel and he can check her. Let's go to his chamber," Dean suggests and moves first. Sam follows him without a word.

They meet the healer in front of his chamber. The man had heard Sam's shouts and was heading towards the hall when he meets the brothers on the way.

"Bring her inside," he tells Sam after noticing Jess' unconscious body in his arms. "Lay her on the bed. Good. Now, I must ask you to leave. I have to examine her. I assure you, she will be fine," the healer smiles after Sam throws a worried glance at him.

Left without a choice the brothers exit Bessabel's room and begin waiting during which Sam paces about, biting his nails. Dean leans against the wall with his arms folded on his chest and a concerned look on his face.

When the waiting becomes unbearable the door of Bessabel's chamber creaks open and the healer walks out, drying his hands on a cloth.

"How is she? Is she alright? Is she awake?" Sam throws the questions at the man impatiently.

Bessabel nods. "Yes. She is awake."

"What-what happened to her? Is it serious?" The younger brother has a hard time refraining himself from bursting into the healer's chamber.

"Yes, it's serious. I should say very serious," the healer responds and all the color drains from Sam's face. Dean is there in an instant, grabbing his arm to steady him.

"What's wrong with her?" Dean asks hoarsely. He is concerned too. Jess is so gentle and kind and Dean does not want anything bad to happen to her.

"You will soon become a father, my boy. My congratulations!" Bessabel laughs and puts his hand on Sam's shoulder.

The younger Winchester gasps, shifts his gaze from one man to the other and then reels.

"Pull yourself together, Sammy! If you faint I'm not carrying your fat ass!" Dean barks, noticing that his brother is about to pass out.

Dean's words have an effect of a whiplash, immediately sobering him up, and Sam hugs them both from downpour of overwhelming emotions, almost crushing their bones.

"Oh my gods," the young man whispers in disbelief. "I'm going to be a father."

"Yes and a good one too. I'm happy for you, Sammy." Dean claps a hand on his brother's back, feeling genuine joy filling his heart. "Go, she needs you now."

Sam nods, mutters a quick "thank you" and storms into Bessabel's chamber, leaving the other two smiling men behind.

* * *

After dinner, at which Castiel is noticeably absent, Dean chooses a book from the library and returns to his bedchamber. He feels a strange, nagging sensation tugging at his heart. Like missing something. Or someone. Brushing the forlorn thoughts aside he opens the door and steps into the room.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean's book falls out of his grasp when he sees the prince standing in front of him. Castiel is wearing a gown of dark green brocade, just like Dean's eyes. The young chieftain can see the smooth skin beneath it and realizes that Castiel is naked.

"I told you to come back only if you would want me." The barbarian's voice goes deeper and huskier.

"I know," Castiel mutters quietly, taking an uncertain step forward.

With a feral growl Dean grabs Castiel's pliant body and presses him against the wall.

"You know what follows next, right, Cas?"

The tip of Castiel's tongue darts out, swiping over his dried lips. The air ties in knots somewhere deep in his throat making it almost impossible to breathe and the way they stand so close to each other does not make things easier.

"Yes, I know what follows," Castiel responds calmly, with his pupils blown wide and eyes shining with lust. Desire is too strong to resist and they both know it.

Dean slides his hand through the prince's already disheveled hair, feeling the smoothness of it on his fingers. His trousers are getting dangerously tight, his hardened cock threatening to burst out though the fabric.

"I missed you," Dean murmurs, grabbing Castiel's hips and squeezing the firm buttocks in his palms.

Castiel groans in response, low and sensual, when Dean's lips kiss along his neck, inhaling his scent and biting the unblemished skin where neck meets shoulder. He rolls his hips slightly in a clear invitation, giving Dean the signal to continue.

"Do you want to continue what we started that night? Would you like to explore your body more, find out what other pleasures you can expect?"

The brunet trembles and moans sweetly when the barbarian's palm covers his crotch, teasing his hardening length through the satin.

"I would like that, yes," he whispers, completely yielding to Dean's skillful ministrations.

Dean tugs at Castiel's gown, feeling slightly irritated that it's the only obstacle between him and the prince's body. "Take this thing off. We will not need it."

Castiel nods, slowly getting rid of the gown, which joins the pile of Dean's clothes on the floor.

"Lie down on the bed," Dean orders as he guides the younger man to it. He lies next to Castiel as the latter scoots up to the headboard, looking uncertain of what to do next.

"I want you to touch yourself. I want you to caress your own body." Dean rolls onto his side, facing Castiel. "I want you to feel the sensitive spots on your flesh."

Castiel bites his lip, feeling how his skin begins to burn when his fingers run down his sides and ribs, trail over his taut abdomen, moving to his nipples. A surprised gasp sneaks between his lips when his fingers begin to rub the pink buds. He never knew how sensitive they were before. As the movements become more confident and active the heat and desire begin to flow southwards, gathering in his crotch.

"Dean," the brunet pleads, unsure of what he's asking for.

Seeing Castiel like this, so excited and yet helpless, makes Dean growl possessively, predatory instincts awakening within him.

"Only I get to see you like this. Only I. No one else," he repeats over and over, kneeling above the man who's pleasuring himself underneath him.

Dean leans forward and seals their mouths together, curling his fingers around Castiel's neck. Hearing the brunet's satisfied moan, the barbarian deepens the kiss, plunging his tongue between the blue-eyed man's lips. Castiel runs his fingers through Dean's hair, gladly letting the man lead. He's unable to stop writhing and shuddering as Dean keeps his promise and shows him the pleasurable sides of life.

After the long kiss which leaves them both breathless, Dean rolls to his side once again. He hangs over the edge of the bed, fumbling under it until he pulls something out.

"What is that thing?" Castiel pants heavily, still enslaved by uncontrollable lust.

"We will need this," Dean says with a chuckle. "I am going to do some things to you which may seem little strange and unusual but trust me, you will be begging for more." Dean languidly pats Castiel's hip. "May I have your consent?"

Castiel gulps loudly. What does Dean mean? So far he's not complaining and what if Dean is right? If it will be as pleasurable as the activities of the last time, then Castiel is all up for it.

"You have it."

"Good. Get up and lie on me. On your back." Dean is uncapping the glass jar in his hand.

Feeling his cheeks flush crimson red and a thudding heart Castiel gets up slowly and waits 'till Dean adjusts on the bed before lying on top of him.

"Now relax and bend your knees," Dean whispers hotly into his ear, his voice full of promises.

Castiel gasps when his buttocks are pushed apart and the fingers slick with something greasy caress and fondle with his balls, circling and teasing his opening with feather-light touches. The brunet shudders, trying to get away from too intimate contact but Dean's warning growl and a slap on his left buttock cause him to still.

"Don't move. Relax and enjoy, Cas. Trust me, I won't hurt you."

Castiel's breath begins to quicken when Dean applies the same thick substance on his tight ring of muscles, spreading it with his fingers.

"Shh, I've got you," the barbarian murmurs as he pushes the first digit inside. The other hand begins to caress Castiel's cock, spreading glistening precum all over the length to distract the man from the unusual sensations. It works perfectly, and soon Dean adds a second and third finger.

"Oh gods… this… this an…" Castiel is a squirming, bubbling mess above Dean. His head rolls from side to side, fingers digging into Dean's thigh, leaving white crescents on his tanned skin.

"Do you like it? Do you like how my fingers move in and out of you?" Dean pants. His cock is nudging into Castiel's ass and it's like a torture. Sweet, but still a torture.

The brunet makes a choked whimper and jolts up when the movement of Dean's fingers quicken and they graze over something extremely sensitive.

"Ah… Dean… Please, do that again!"

The young chieftain can tell that Castiel is hanging on the edge of his climax and he wants to hit his release together with him.

"Cas, press your thighs together for me," he asks as he adjusts himself so that his cock is trapped between Castiel's perky buttocks. And he moans brokenly when the prince does as he's told.

Both of Dean's hands quicken their pace, driving Castiel insane from the inside and the outside, as he thrusts wildly between the brunet's cheeks, which grasp his cock tightly. Seeing the prince unraveling so easily with just a few touches of his fingers, the green-eyed man wonders what Castiel would feel like if Dean buried himself to the hilt in his sweet, tight heat.

Drinking in the sight of Castiel eagerly fucking himself down on his fingers, moaning, whimpering and letting out all the pent up emotions throws Dean over the edge. He pumps at Castiel's cock, presses his fingers hard against the brunet's prostate and spills his seed.

Apparently, the prince had reached his peak as well because his back arches off of Dean's body and with a loud cry he paints his abdomen and chest with the white threads of hot semen. He slumps down on Dean when his orgasmic bliss begins to disperse.

"Fuck…" Dean wheezes out, feeling sated and pleasantly tired. "This was absolutely amazing."

Castiel rolls onto his stomach, face buried into the pillow, and groans something unintelligible.

"I suppose that means that you agree?" the green-eyed man laughs softly, enjoying the feeling of running his hand from Castiel's sweat-covered neck down to his waist.

Castiel turns his head, blue eyes shining at Dean benevolently. "Yes, that means I share your opinion."

"I'm glad you liked your second lesson." Dean leans forward, catching the brunet's lips, sucking and nipping at them. A moment later he gets up from the bed. "I'll bring us something to drink."

As he's pouring some wine into two cups there are hurried, approaching footsteps near the door. Dean knows the sound of them. It must be Sam.

"Dean, are you in there?" his brother calls from the corridor and then pushes the door open.

The older Winchester has no time to cover up himself and faces Sam stark naked.

"Oh for the gods' sake, Dean," Sam groans, turning his head to the side.

"Shut up, don't act like you don't know what a cock looks like. What's the matter?" Dean grumbles, not moving from the doorway.

Sam is a bit surprised that Dean clearly does not want to let him in but then he decides it's not important.

"We have a messenger. He just came from Dragskalion."

"And? What about it?" Worrisome thoughts begin to creep into Dean's head.

"The town has been attacked by robbers. Many people were killed, houses burned." Sam's voice shakes as he speaks.

"Is Bobbi alright?" Dean asks the inevitable question.

Sam shakes his head. "No, he's not, and he needs our help."

Dean's heart tightens in his chest as a pain from thousands of sharp daggers stabs at him. Bobbi is in trouble. He prays that the gods may be merciful and protect the man until they get there.

"We will go in an hour. Just give me some time to get ready."

"Yes, sure. I'll be in my chamber." Sam turns around.

Dean closes the door, wondering how much his brother had seen, when his glance falls down on Castiel.

The prince is lying on his stomach, deeply asleep. His full, pink lips which look so kissable and tempting are slightly opened, letting out even breaths. Black lashes flutter, casting small shadows over his cheekbones. The soft, thin bed-sheet is covering the young man below his waist but Dean can still see two perfect round globes of Castiel's ass. The brunet looks so peaceful and innocent that the young barbarian's heart does a somersault. He approaches the bed slowly, putting the cups of wine aside.

"How I wish I didn't have to go. But I can't leave him in trouble. He's like a father to me," Dean whispers, caressing Castiel's dark, unruly hair. "I hope you don't get yourself into trouble while I'm gone and keep your lovely ass safe for my return. I am not done with you yet." Dean groans softly, feeling waves of lust again.

"Sleep, Cas and be safe." The chieftain of Battle Shadows places a long kiss on the brunet's lips before standing up and getting ready for a very exhausting road trip to Dragskalion.

 


	38. Chapter 38

Dean wishes he could say he's happy to be back to Dragskalion. But he has absolutely no reason for saying it as he can't shake off the feeling that he's walking through a ghost town. Nothing but silence and empty streets greet him, and he exchanges worried glances with Sam. There are a few stray dogs jumping out of bushes, barking and scaring their horses, but other than that the place looks abandoned.

"What happened here?" Sam whispers in astonishment, not recognizing the place which once used to be busy, noisy, and full of life.

As they go further into the town their concerns only get worse. It seems like the robbers or whoever attacked this place burned down most of the houses, barns and other buildings.

Dean clenches his fist on the rein. "I swear to all existing gods that if they harmed Bobbi –"

Bobbi's hut where the Winchesters had been raised looks awful: it's half burned down and the door is partly unhinged, creaking with every blow of a small breeze. The smell of smoke and scorched wood is still lingering in the air.

"Bobbi!" the brothers exclaim simultaneously, dismounting their horses in hurry and rushing towards the door.

Inside the hut is a mess: whatever small furniture Bobbi had is now broken and its shards are scattered around; there are dents and holes in the walls, as if someone had been trying to take them down.

"Bobbi! Where are you? For the love of the gods please be alive!" Dean's voice is shaking just like his body.

"I'm here," comes a weak voice from the dark corner, making the brothers jump in surprise.

The Winchesters run towards it, stepping on broken pieces of pottery. The floor groans from their weight and hefty steps.

And there in the dark corner they see the man who has raised them as his own sons, providing them with all the necessary care and fatherly love he could have given. The old man is sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, looking bruised, beaten but still unbroken.

"Bobbi, you are alive." Sam's eyes begin to sting as he hugs the man and clings to him like he's life depends on it.

"I'm hard to kill," the man chuckles and pats one of his adopted sons on the back.

"I'm glad to see you have not departed to the other world." Dean hugs his surrogate father as soon as his brother moves away.

"What happened here? We got a messenger from you, saying the town had been attacked by robbers," Sam asks as he sits next to Bobbi.

"Seven nights ago a troop of robbers came to town. They were armed to the teeth and the town was not ready for it. They raided Dragskallion, killed and slaughtered, robbed and raped, spilled blood, took whatever they could and burned down what couldn't be taken. When they came here, I sent four of them to the Otherworld but they outnumbered me. I've never been a rich man and they were enraged when they couldn't find any valuable possessions in this hut, that's why they burned it down. The rumors say they went to the North but their leader said they would be back again." Bobbi sighs with obvious pain and desperation in his voice.

"Does Uldred know about it?" Dean inquires. They have not seen any soldiers in the town from the royal army.

"No."

"Why not? You should have informed him." Sam looks at his brother for support.

"Because everyone knows that you have sent Uldred away which convinced people that the king is powerless. You have the reins in your hands now," Bobbi snorts, throwing an amused glance at Dean who flushes red and averts his eyes.

"That's not true," the young man mumbles. "He's still the king."

"Whatever you say."

"It does not matter now. We will inform him about the situation and he will send warriors to Dragskalion. But for now, you must come with us. I will not let you stay in this ruined hut. You should gather your stuff and get ready for departure. We will leave in the evening." Dean declares determined as he shifts on the floor but yelps unexpectedly when there is a deafening scream and a sharp pain in his left hand.

"What in the underworld was that?" he shouts angrily, rubbing his hand.

"That was Naila. You stepped on her tail." Bobbi's laughter is so nice to hear.

"What?" It seems that the brothers like to talk at the same time.

"My cat, you idiots. You must have stepped on her tail," Bobbi explains, still chuckling.

"Since when do you have a cat?" Dean is still glaring, looking at his hand with red scratches on it.

"I found her two days ago. She was surrounded by coyotes and badly injured. They would've ripped her into pieces had I not come to her aid. Her front leg hurts and she's limping. Most probably she will never be able to use it but it does not prevent her from being crazy and chasing her tail. She's very affectionate too." Bobbi talks with so much tenderness in his voice that the brothers can't help but smile.

"Oh, alright then." Now Dean can see an orange cat sitting in Bobbi's lap, purring and rubbing her face against the man's hand.

"This is the only thing I can take with me," the old man tells them, scanning his hut with sadness in his eyes.

"Bobbi, we will rebuild your hut, I give you my word. But not now. I promise, you will have it back in the same shape as it used to be. Trust me," Dean assures the man, knowing that he's speaking the truth.

Bobbi gives him a tired smile. "I know, son. And I'm grateful to you for it."

"Alright, sentiments aside. I think we should clean up this place at least a little so we could rest 'til evening," Sam suggests with enthusiasm.

Surprisingly no one argues.

* * *

Bessabel knows that something has changed and not for the good when he sees Magnus returned to the fortress. The sorcerer of Battle Shadows has become more sullen, grim-faced and reticent than before. His actions and moves seem careful and well-measured which causes a turmoil of doubts in Bessabel's mind. He needs to keep an eye on Magnus, especially now when both brothers are gone.

Walking out of the royal garden after his nightly prayers Bessabel notices Magnus speaking with a stranger, who's clad in grey cape and standing with his back towards the former slave. Bessabel hides behind the nearest tree to watch the two men, who're speaking quietly. It's very hard to understand what they're discussing as the words cannot reach him but Bessabel feels in his gut that it's something significant. And when Magnus nods with "Yes, I understand. All will be done," and the stranger throws a little bag at him, which sounds like rattling gold coins, Bessabel knows that danger is close.

The stranger and Magnus walk out of the garden, leaving Bessabel, puzzled and extremely worried, behind. The healer steps out from his hiding place, reaching the spot where the two men were just standing. His gaze falls upon a little shining thing when the rays of the moon reflect on it.

Bessabel bends down, picking up the thing which turns out to be a golden coin. He takes a good look at it, then flips the coin. His brows shot up and the man chokes a gasp when he recognizes the house symbol engraved on the back of the coin.

"Dean, I pray to all the gods that you return as soon as possible. We may be in grave danger!" The healer closes his eyes, mumbling the prayers fervently and asking the gods for their protection.

* * *

It's been a few days since Dean left for Dragskalion and Castiel feels a dull ache in his heart. He'd got so used to their intimate touches and closeness that now it feels like he's missing a large piece of his soul. The days without the brothers, especially Dean, at the fortress are boring and seem to stretch endlessly. Most of his time is spent talking to and comforting Jess, who's struggling with the unpleasant sensations from her pregnancy. According to Bessabel's advice she lies in bed most of the time and Castiel sits beside her, reading her books or telling funny stories. And he feels a bit better whenever Jess giggles or lets out a surprised shriek.

It's late at night and the prince decides to go to sleep when he hears knocking on his door. He stops unlacing his shirt, turning towards the entrance.

"Yes? Who's there?"

"Prince Castiel, may I come in?" sounds Magnus' voice.

"Of course. Come in." Castiel opens the door and meets the sorcerer's alarmed gaze.

"You look concerned. Has something happened?" Castiel asks confused.

"Yes and I don't know how to tell you or ask for a favor." Magnus fidgets nervously.

"What is it? Come in and please tell me what's bothering you." The brunet steps aside and lets the man into his bedchamber.

"It's about the settlement." Magnus swallows loudly. "There is… there is a little girl and… and…" Magnus looks about the room, his eyes darting from side to side.

"What about this child?" Castiel's voice is trained, concern already filling in.

"She's dying, Your Royal Highness," Magnus informs forlornly and Castiel's stomach churns at hearing the words.

"B-but how? Why?" the blue-eyed man asks hoarsely. No child should die of such young age!

"She's ill. Unfortunately with something that is not curable and her time has come to depart to the gods," Magnus shakes his head.

"Is there anything at all that we can do for her?" Castiel asks desperately.

"That's why I came," the sorcerer smiles bitterly. "She has a last wish."

"Which is?" Castiel almost shouts, ready to do whatever the child wants, just to make her happy one more time.

"She wants to see you and tell you a story about her foal she'd found in the woods without its mother."

Castiel rubs his forehead with a trembling hand, feeling devastated.

"Let's go," he tells the man.

"But you were going to bed. Maybe we should go in the morning?" Magnus suggests carefully.

"No! It cannot wait. The child may not have so much time. We are going now."

"As you wish." Magnus bows and follows the prince into the corridor.

* * *

They ride towards the settlement in silence. They've covered the half way when a group of fifteen riders appear on their path, blocking their way.

"Who are you? Out of our way!" Castiel demands, piercing their leader with an intense gaze.

"You are not the one in charge here, boy!" the man laughs mockingly, giving a signal to his warriors.

Castiel and Magnus are surrounded from every side and before the prince has time to unsheathe his sword, one of the attackers jumps at him, tackling to the ground. Castiel manages to punch him in the jaw but in another instant he feels a sack pulled over his head and something heavy connecting with his scalp.

"Damn it, Morhas! I didn't order to kill him!" the leader of the attackers yells at one of his men.

"He's not dead. He's just out," Morhas grins widely when he lifts the sack to be sure that Castiel is still alive. "He's breathing."

"Thank gods," the leader mutters. "Drape him over a horse."

While his warriors are busy tying Castiel to the horse the man turns to Magnus who'd been watching the whole scene with an envious calm.

"Good work. My lord will be satisfied."

"I hope no one finds out about this," Magnus mumbles. "I will return to the fortress saying that my health worsened on the way and Castiel sent me back to the fortress to get some rest and that he went to the settlement alone."

"Good. You do that. Hurry up, we don't have a lot of time!" the leader shouts at his men, spurring his horse into motion.

Riding back to the fortress in the whirlwind of dust Magnus feels joyous. His faint smile turns into thunderous laughter as the sweet feelings of revenge and victory make his blood boil. For all the humiliation and lack of respect he's finally hit Dean Winchester in the weak spot.

* * *

Three days later when the brothers and Bobbi return to the fortress and Dean sees Bessabel's deathly pale face, he instantly knows that something horrible has happened while he was gone.

"Castiel went missing," the healer informs him. "We cannot find him anywhere. And I think I may know what happened to him."

A flock of blackbirds sitting on poplar trees in the royal garden start and fly away with a disturbing squawking when a mighty yell erupts from the depths of the fortress.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs hands together and makes purring sounds* let me hear your screams caused be the last line :D

"Dean!" Sam exclaims in shock when his brother's fist connects with the nearest wall and the skin splits, drawing blood. He wants to check his sibling's hand but Dean's gesture chains him to the spot where he stands.

"I knew it. I had a damn feeling that something would happen during our absence! Tell me what happened. Every detail, Bessabel!" The leader of Battle Shadows is trembling from barely-contained rage.

"As far as I know Magnus came to the fortress and asked Castiel to go with him to the settlement, as a little girl was dying and her last wish was to see the prince. A few hours later Magnus returned to the fortress, stating that due to his worsened health on the road Castiel sent him back and rode to the settlement alone. When Castiel did not appear the next day and people from the settlement said he never reached them I understood that something horrible had happened to him," Bessabel informs him but there is something in the sorcerer's look that stirs Dean's doubts.

"You seem like you want to add something to that story." Dean looks him in the eyes. "What is it?"

Bessabel coughs, clearing his throat.

"Before this happened Magnus met someone secretly in the garden. I was returning to the fortress from my nightly prayers when I saw them. I could not hear what they talked about, nor could I see the stranger's face but I assume he gave Magnus gold as a reward for something that he had to do. When they left the garden, I found this." The former slave reaches his hand towards Dean and opens his clenched fist to reveal a gold coin.

"What is this?" Dean frowns, looking at the shining metal.

"Flip it, boy," Bobbi grumbles beside him, breaking the silence he's kept so far.

The coin has a roaring bear engraved on the back side.

"It's a symbol of lord Azazel's house. He is Uldred's old enemy," Bessabel sighs bitterly. "Azazel wanted to usurp the throne and make his son Alastair the king of Vali Isuria but we learned about his plans and Uldred was forced to kill Alastair to teach his father a lesson. Since then we had not heard from him - it seemed like the ground had opened up and swallowed him - until we heard of a huge army called Battle Shadows led by your father John the Slayer had decided to march into our lands and that Azazel became his ally. They had to meet in Hallowfield but the king's army did not let Azazel's troops pass, fighting against them at the gorge of the Ancient Ones. They annihilated almost everyone and only Azazel with the handful of his men had managed to escape. I suppose you know the rest of what happened in Hallowfield." Bessabel finishes his speech and falls silent.

The tension in the hall is tangible and the air around them charged with anxiety. There are many conflicting thoughts sprinting through Dean's mind as past memories are disturbed and awaken but he decides to brush them all off, as there is no time for it. One can't change the past.

"So, you're thinking that Azazel bribed Magnus and he led Castiel into a trap?" Sam swallows audibly. This is bad, so bad!

Bessabel nods slowly.

"He held a grudge against you, Dean. I could see how painful it was for him to watch you choose my services over his. It hurt his pride. And I think that's why he decided to aim at your weak spot – Castiel."

"There's only one way to find out," Dean growls as he stomps to the Magnus' chamber. It's a little strange that he has not come out to greet his chieftain.

Dean pushes the door with so much force that it almost flies off the hinges. The slamming noise startles Magnus who's sleeping on his bed.

"Dean?" he asks puzzled. "When did you return? I did not hear anything." The man gets up hurriedly but the barbarian is not listening to him, he's busy throwing things off shelves, raising carpets, removing pillows and bed sheets.

"What's happening?" Magnus asks frightened as he notices Sam, Bessabel and an unfamiliar old man come into his chamber.

"How much did he pay you, you son of bitch?" Dean yells into Magnus' face and the sorcerer turns deathly pale.

"I… I don't und -" but he's roughly pushed aside as Dean takes the mattress off of the bed, throwing it on the floor carelessly. And there it is! In the middle of the bed there is a small bag which gives a faint rattling sound when Dean picks it up. The fabric has a hole in one side from which the coin Bessabel had found must've fallen out.

The older Winchester quickly opens it, and shakes out its contents. Golden coins fall out into his palm and they look similar to the one Bessabel has – with Azazel's symbol on them.

"I can explain! Dean, please let me exp…" Magnus begins with a fear-soaked voice but a punch to the jaw sends him slamming into the wall.

"How could you? Magnus, how could you? You greedy son of a bitch! You took Castiel's naiveté to your advantage, knowing of his kind heart, didn't you? If you had any problems with me you should have come and talked to me! Why him?" Dean is bellowing as he keeps punching the man without mercy. His green eyes flash fury and uncontrollable rage, the veins on his neck swell, ready to burst as he keeps gritting his teeth.

It takes all three of them, Sam, Bessabel and Bobbi, to drag Dean from Magnus who's lying on the floor in a crumpled bloody heap.

"Dean, calm down! This won't help Castiel. Please, stop!" Sam begs as he keeps restraining his brother who wants to break out of their grip and end Magnus' sorry life.

"Son, he is right," Bobbi cuts in. "Instead of killing him which will not gain you anything, you should think of your next step, of how to help the young prince."

Little by little Dean's labored breathing becomes even and his tensed body relaxes.

"Guards!" he calls. "Take and throw him into the dungeon," he orders when two men run into the chamber.

As soon as they take out the still unconscious Magnus, Dean turns to his companions.

"Get some rest. We will meet in an hour at the dining hall to discuss the rescuing plan. Bessabel, please help Bobbi choose a vacant chamber."

"Of course, Dean."

* * *

When Castiel comes to he finds himself in total darkness. He can't see a thing. There are voices around him, the snorting of horses and clattering of hooves. His hands and feet are bound, mouth gagged and the young prince assumes he's in some kind of a carriage as he can feel cold bars against his back.

Who are these people, what do they want and more importantly where are they taking him? Unanswered questions rush through his mind as the horses take him to the unknown destination. Far away from the Sirnamor fortress, home, friends and finally Dean.

No one speaks to him during those couple of days they spend on the exhausting road. Once a day they give him a flask of water which he has to make sure is sufficient till next morning. He tries to talk to his guards but no one tells him a word, like it's a big secret and they're afraid to let a word slip about their destination.

They reach the place at night. Castiel can feel it from the noise and fussing around. The massive iron gates open with a disturbing creak, letting the men in to the courtyard. The curtains of his carriage are pushed aside and Castiel is dragged out by two huge, tall and heavily armed men. Despite his resistance they drag him away and into the fortress.

"Hello, Castiel," an old man sitting on an armchair that looks identical to Uldred's throne, greets the young man. His face is wrinkled, long white hair rests on his shoulders and a grey beard covers his chin and hollowed cheeks.

"Where am I and what do you want from me?" Castiel demands angrily. "How dare you kidnap me?"

"How dare I? With the same right your father murdered my only son!" The man's voice despite his age sounds mighty as he bangs his fist on the armrest.

Castiel feels unpleasant chills running down the spine. So that's where he is! Azazel's fortress. He knows about the lord of the Seven Falcons fortress and his son Alastair, and what his father did to punish the oath breakers.

"I suggest you let me go," Castiel says calmly. "And maybe you get to keep your life, Lord Azazel."

"Shut your mouth, impudent boy!" Azazel exclaims. "You are not in a position to be making any suggestions."

"My absence will not go unnoticed," the prince of Vali Isuria jerks his head up. "Think about it."

"You are wrong," Azazel chuckles. "My men took care of it. And if they notice it will be too late."

"What do you mean?" Castiel makes a step forward, squinting his eyes.

"Oh, trust me, you will find out soon enough." The lord of the Seven Falcons fortress lets out a hoarse laughter and gives a sign to his soldiers.

* * *

As decided earlier Dean, Sam, Bessabel, and Bobbi are all gathered in the dining hall around the table.

"The road will take two days to get to Azazel's lands if you take this one," Bessabel points at the map. "There is another one too, stretching through a forest-clearing and safer, but it will take longer time to get there."

"No, the first one looks good." Dean leans on the table, studying the map carefully. "Cas may not have much time," he adds grimly.

"Alright, so we get there in two days if we leave tomorrow at sunrise. Then what? What are we going to do when we reach Azazel's fortress?" Sam asks.

"We raze the whole gods-damned fortress to the ground! That's what we are going to do!" Dean snarls furiously.

"Azazel's fortress is not an easy one to attack. Plus, they will be on alert now. In my opinion you need a different approach," Bessabel suggests timidly.

"Like what? I can't think of anything. Can you?" Dean exclaims desperately, finally feeling his nerves giving up.

"Calm down, boy. What's bitten you in the ass?" Bobbi grumbles. "I may have an idea."

"Please share it with us," Sam turns to his surrogate father while his brother sits down again.

"First of all we need to set a temporary camp not too far away from the fortress. Preferably in the woods. Then, you need to send your spies disguised as paupers into the town and let them try to gather any kind of information they can. When they return to us, we will think of the next step."

Dean snorts, ready to make a snarky comment but Bobbi's strict gaze shuts him up abruptly, words dying on his mouth.

"I like the idea," the younger Winchester nods. "It may work well. What do you think, Dean?"

"Well, we don't have anything else so, yes, why not. If anything we can always come back to plan A," the young chieftain says tiredly.

"Good. I think you should start preparations and choose how many warriors you want to take with you," Bobbi tells him.

"Yes, you are right. Also, I need to send a messenger to Uldred," Dean taps his fingers on the table.

"And why is that?" Bessabel asks surprised.

"Dragskallion needs protection and Uldred should send some of his army there as the robbers promised to return. Also, we should make sure that the tidings about Castiel's disappearance do not reach him."

"I understand. Do you want me to make necessary arrangements?"

"Yes, please. And thank you Bessabel." Dean smiles weakly at the man.

"My pleasure, Dean," the healer nods courtly before standing up and leaving the hall.

"Any questions?" Dean looks at his brother and Bobbi. They both shake their heads.

"Alright then. The meeting is over. We have a work to do and better start preparations."

* * *

Two days later the Winchester brothers, Bobbi, and Bessabel, accompanied by four hundred chosen warriors, reach the Seven Falcons fortress. As Bobbi had suggested they find a grove of thick, hundred year old trees, a perfect place for a camp.

Dean sends five men disguised as paupers at the dawn, instructing them to keep their eyes open and ears strained for any rumors.

All of them return late at night and only one brings the tidings, which are so horrible that Dean has to bite his clenched fist to refrain from the gut-wrenching howling that threatens to erupt from his throat.

In three days Castiel is to be burned at the stake.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the wild ride muahahaha :P

"Where did you hear this?" Bobbi decides to intervene when he sees that neither Dean nor Sam seems to be in the mood of asking further questions.  
  
"At the tavern," the man who has bought the awful tidings responds. "There was a group of soldiers whispering to one another, but as I was sitting near them I heard every word. They said that Azazel held a captive of royal blood in the dungeon and that he would be sacrificed to the god of war in three days."  
  
"Did anyone notice you?" Sam asks with palpable tension in his voice.   
  
"No, I was eating my soup and pretending not to be interested at all."   
  
"Good," Bobbi nods and then turns to Dean. "Now we need a plan and a good one. We don't have much time."   
  
Dean is silent, his face sullen. There is a raging storm in his soul, screaming at him that this is all his fault. Had they not gone to Dragskallion he would've been able to save Castiel from his lamentable fate. But then how could he not have gone?   
  
"This is not your fault, son." Bobbi guesses his bitter thoughts and places a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. "Stop torturing yourself and help us come up with a rescue plan."  
  
"Alright," the older Winchester rasps. "Alright, let's do this."  
  
They sit under a half-withered tree with long branches. Dean's warriors are cleaning and sharpening their weapons, getting them ready for an upcoming battle. Some of them are cooking dinner on a small fire as their chieftain forbade them to build a bigger one in case the smoke should reveal their hiding place.   
  
"Azazel's fortress is not an easy target," Bessabel speaks. "The walls are twenty-five feet thick, built from solid rocks that can withstand almost anything. Unless the gods descend and destroy them by themselves, there is little hope of breaching them."  
  
"There must be something," Dean objects. "Every fortress has its weak spots. We just need to find them."   
  
"And how are we going to do that?" Sam asks. His hand is plucking idly at the grass they sit on.   
  
"I will send a small group of scouts and we will see if there are any backdoors or holes in the walls which we can use to our advantage."   
  
"What if there are none?" Bobbi shifts on the ground, letting out a small grunt as his old bones voice their discontent.   
  
"Then we will think of something else." Dean does not sound too convincing and it's unnerving.   
  
A few hours later, long after midnight when the darkness has wrapped the earth tightly in its cloak, the chieftain of Battle Shadows sends thirty men to the walls of the Seven Falcons fortress with the hope that they will find something. Anything at all.   
  
Only twelve of them make their way back alive. 

* * *

Time flies fast and Dean and his companions are slowly losing hope. His darkened mood only gets worse and he feels like hanging on the edge of a cliff. His despair and blinding fury make the young barbarian want to scratch and peel the surrounding trees, smash and destroy everything around. There seems no way of getting inside the walls of the fortress and if it's so, Dean wishes to be chained next to Castiel when the flames devour the man he has fallen in love with.   
  
But fortune has not left them and she soon sends them a strange gift: fifty of Azazel's warriors.   
  
After killing Dean's sent scouts Azazel had decided to send his own, ordering them to check nearby places for possible enemies. And that's how the men of the lord of the Seven Falcons fortress encounter Dean and his small army in the woods late on the night prior to Castiel's execution.   
  
The clash is short but savage. Azazel's outnumbered and ambushed men fall one by one in a bloody heap of mutilated corpses. Dean shows no mercy and annihilates them all. The wrath is oozing off of him as the madness dances in his green eyes while his sword brings the death to his enemies. Time to remind them who they're fighting against: Dean the Doombringer!  
  
"How many are there?" Dean cleans his sword, looking at all the corpses.   
  
"We killed them all. Fifty dead men, Chieftain. We lost only fourteen," responds a man with an axe, who's been counting the fallen.   
  
"Great," Dean nods, satisfied. "I think I know what we should do," he turns to his brother and Bobbi. Bessabel is not with them as the healer has a work to do, treating and mending the wounded warriors' injuries.   
  
"Share it with us," Bobbi pants. Despite his age he still can hack off a head or two.   
  
"We will put on their armor and cloaks and enter the gates. When they bring Castiel out to chain him to the pillar half of the group will attack the guards and the other half will open the gates. By that time the rest of the warriors must be at the gates waiting."  
  
"Sounds good to me. What do you think?" Sam waits for Bobbi to answer.  
  
The old man gives a brief nod. "I think it's a good plan."  
  
"Then it's time to get ready." Dean's sword drives into the ground with a resounding crunch. 

* * *

Castiel knows that he is going to die. Azazel told him that he will be sacrificed to the god of war at sunrise. Despite the hopeless situation he's in the young prince can't help it when a bark of laughter escapes through his split lips. What irony, he's in a dungeon once again. His laughter quickly dies when a wave of pain shots through him like an arrow. Azazel had made sure to beat him up before giving a horrendous death. There are bruises and cuts on Castiel's body and face, and although they already have stopped bleeding the blood smeared on his forehead and cheeks only makes the sight more heartbreaking.  
  
Castiel wishes he could see his family, friends, and Dean one last time. He wishes he could talk to his parents and sisters, telling them how things have changed, that Dean is not a monster and that he is a good man deep inside. He wishes he could wrap his arms around the green-eyed barbarian, press against his chest and inhale Dean's scent, which Castiel has come to love. But he can't have those things as Dean probably has no idea where to search for him and even if he were to find out, it still does not matter; it will be too late.  
  
"Gods, give me strength to withstand the pain I am about to receive. Don't let me scream and shed tears," Castiel prays quietly. Beating up and burning in fire differ, just like the sky and the earth. And the pain from fire is thousand times worse.  
  
When the first ray of the sun sneaks into his cell from the small window in the wall and caresses warmly his cheeks, the door of his cell creaks open. Without turning around Castiel knows what it means.  
  
His time has come.

* * *

The walk from the dungeon to the courtyard where Azazel, his suit, and the locals are waiting stretches like eternity. Castiel staggers from weakness and the weight of the chains around his wrists and ankles. The smell of rotten vegetables which people throw at him does not bother the young man. He knows that it's really not their fault. They simply fulfill their lord's order. Castiel's eyes are glued to the pillar around which his executioner puts more wood. The prince swallows hard and tries to calm his furiously beating heart. His eyes shift to Azazel who sits with a victorious grin, as his suit chuckle and rub their hands in anticipation and morbid joy.

Castiel understands that he cannot escape. He will be caught in the blink of an eye. His bare feet scrape against the pointy stones, pricking the skin as if he's not been through enough pain. Even the stones are against the poor prince!  
  
"Any last words?" Azazel asks mockingly when the procession stops in front of his chair.   
  
"Your soul will be eternally damned," Castiel answers calmly. "You are doomed to wander in the darkness with monsters in every corner, ready to rip off a piece of you. And that day will arrive when you least expect it."  
  
"Your nonsense has given me a headache. You spe..." Azazel makes a pause when there is a loud noise in the back rows. The courtyard is overcrowded and it's hard to see in such large mass what's happening back there. With a bad presentiment the man turns to Castiel's guards.  
  
"Tie him to the pillar immediately!"  
  
While they drag and chain Castiel to the pillar the noise gets louder and intense and soon after there are screams and clashing sounds of weapons.   
  
At first Azazel and his suit do not understand what has gone wrong as they see their soldiers with unsheathed swords but when the lord of the Seven Falcon's fortress witnesses how they attack and kill some of the warriors in the front rows, Azazel knows that they are not his men at all!  
  
"Throw the damn torch!" Azazel screams at the confused executioner. His words have an effect of a whiplash and the man fulfills the command.   
  
The fire erupts, blazing up with crackling and the smoke rises up in a black cloud.

* * *

The next seconds or minutes are a blur of fear and agony. The heat and fire are dangerously close, devouring oxygen and Castiel is gasping for air. He tries to move but he's securely chained to the wooden pillar, which is getting hot as the seconds pass.

Castiel cannot see the reason for the sudden chaos but he can hear the deafening yelling, sounds of striking swords, screams and cries. The thick black curtain of the smoke is preventing him from watching the developed events in Azazel's fortress and his eyes are watering while he coughs violently.   
  
The flame reaches his bare feet, briefly licking the unprotected skin and Castiel cries out in pain. He feels dizzy and his lungs are on fire and he prays that he dies from suffocating in the smoke instead of feeling how his flesh is sizzling.  
  
Before the prince loses his consciousness he feels how someone jumps into the deadly circle of fire, removing the chains wrapped around his body. A painfully familiar voice, trembling and filled with fear, mutters frantically:  
  
"I've got you! I've got you, Cas!"  
  
Castiel raises his head and barely manages to open his eyes. His eyelids do not seem to want to obey.   
  
"Dean..." Castiel whispers when he's met with an extremely worried looking barbarian who's dragging him out of the fire.   
  
"Yes, I'm here. Hold on, Cas. Just hold on for me!" Dean whispers as he wraps his arms tighter around Castiel's waist.  
  
With a blissful smile on his face Castiel's knees give out and he collapses in Dean's arms.   
  
And then comes the darkness.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, this chapter is shorter and I promised it would have smut but there are some urgent matters in my life right now and I didn't have time for a long chapter with smut in it. But I give you my word, a lot of smut is ahead :)

For a second Dean feels a cold fear clinging to him, thinking that Castiel just died in his arms, but when the brunet's faint breath tickles his neck he knows that Uldred's son is still alive. But the question Dean must ask himself is: for how much longer? Dean has no idea what Azazel has done to Castiel. Maybe the prince is suffering from deadly wounds hidden from his eyes or has internal bleeding from beatings? Because only one look at Castiel's face is enough to tell that he's been through torture.   
  
Dean grits his teeth and looks around. He needs to find a safe place where Castiel can be hidden 'till Dean finishes razing this whole place to the ground.   
  
Behind the fire, twenty feet away he notices a building that looks like a stable. Carefully lifting Castiel over his shoulder Dean carries his limp body towards it. No one even pays attention to him due to the hysteria and people chaotically running about.   
  
Castiel stirs and moans quietly when Dean walks in and lays him down on straw in the corner. It's empty and quiet inside, not like the courtyard where the madness is reigning.   
  
"Dean," the brunet whispers and his hand grabs the barbarian's wrist, although the grip is weak.   
  
"Hey, hey Cas, you're awake!" the green-eyed man exclaims, gently cupping the prince's cheeks.   
  
"You came to save me." Castiel's eyes are full of bewilderment.   
  
"Of course I came. Did you think I would leave you to perish in the flames?" Dean chuckles, trying to look brave and conceal the fear he'd been feeling.  
  
"I-I don't know," Castiel admits. "How did you find me?"  
  
"I will tell you later. You should rest for now. You're safe here. Just wait for my return, alright?" Dean's thumb caresses Castiel's cheekbone.   
  
"Where are you going?" Castiel tries to sit up and a sharp pain hits him in the back, making the young man wince.   
  
"I must finish what I began. Just rest and don't leave this stable. I will come back soon."   
  
"Is Azazel alive?" Castiel asks.  
  
"If he is then he will not be for long," Dean assures him.   
  
"I want to come with you and help," the prince insists.  
  
"Cas, stop being so stubborn and listen to me. Please."  
  
With a heavy sigh Castiel gives up. "Alright. You win this time."  
  
"Thank you, Your Royal Highness," Dean bows with a mischievous smile and earns a swat on his hand.   
  
"Buffoon," Castiel huffs, rolling his eyes.   
  
"Only sometimes," Dean argues, raising his index finger.   
  
Castiel lets out a brief but hearty laughter, giving Dean a warm look. "Fine, sometimes."   
  
Dean nods with a pleased sound and leans forward. "I will come back for you soon."  
  
"Please be careful, Dean." Worry shines in Castiel's eyes.  
  
"I promise," Dean smiles, reaching for the brunet's lips.   
  
Castiel's hand wraps around the barbarian's neck, tugging him closer 'til their lips meet in a heated kiss.   
  
Holding his sword tightly and walking out of the stable into the madness, Dean knows that he has no right to die, and one of the main reasons for it is the blue-eyed man he's left concealed in those four walls. 

* * *

The courtyard is covered in corpses and the dying. Dean briefly notices Sam and Bobbi near the gates. Both men seem to be fine; Sam is talking to Bobbi, probably explaining something, while the old man nods silently and wipes his sword, removing the blood stains.   
  
Dean knows that Azazel is not dead, he's too clever and sly to be caught so easily. The older Winchester throws a brief glance at the battleground, trying to see the golden cape the lord of the Seven Falcons fortress is wearing but he sees nothing.   
  
The green-eyed man rushes through the fighting warriors with the firm intention to shred Azazel to pieces. He runs by scared servants, who are trying to find a safe shelter. In the screaming and yelling crowd he suddenly hears an agitated shout and Dean stops in his tracks.   
  
A furious and anxious Azazel is snatching a hat and a tunic off of a scared servant. Apparently he wants to disguise himself as one of them and escape from the fortress.   
  
"Not so fast, Azazel!" Dean's voice startles the man and he whirls around, facing a dreadful-looking barbarian.   
  
"Damn you! May the demons of Underworld feast on your bones!" Azazel screams and rips off a dagger from the servant's belt, unsheathing and charging at Dean with a terrifying yell.  
  
"I think I'll pass on your offer," Dean responds calmly, without moving from the spot as his hand grabs the old man's wrist while the tip of his blade cuts through Azazel's stomach.   
  
The lord of the Seven Falcons fortress gurgles incoherently as the blood pours out of his mouth. He looks at Dean incredulously, as if not believing that he's dying.  
  
"You wanted to please the God of war, didn't you? I promise he will be satisfied!" Dean laughs darkly before dragging Azazel towards the fire, which has turned into a huge bonfire by then.  
  
"You wanted to burn Castiel and I will simply let you taste your own medicine!" With these words Dean grabs the bloody man with both hands and throws him into the fire.   
  
Azazel's agonized screams fade out as the minutes pass.   
  
When Dean turns around, he sees that victory is theirs. Most of Azazel's warriors are dead or have surrendered, dropping their weapons.  
  
"Where is Castiel? Is he safe?" Sam asks worriedly as he and Bobbi approach Dean.  
  
"Yes, he's alive and hidden safely," Dean responds. "How many men did we lose?"  
  
"Not many. No more than thirty I suppose."   
  
"It went well. Even better than I had hoped. They did not die in vain," Bobbi points to their fallen friends.  
  
"Death is never pleasant," Dean frowns. "I should make an announcement," he adds after a while.   
  
Sam and Bobbi step aside and let him walk towards the fire that has devoured Azazel's body.   
  
"I, Dean Winchester, eldest son of John the Slayer and leader of Battle Shadows, have an offer for you." The green-eyed man speaks loudly, turning to Azazel's warriors. "You shall not be harmed if you repent and beg King Uldred for mercy. If anyone wants to object and follow after their lord to the other world, come forth and meet my sword."  
  
The crowd is silent at first but then one by one loud shouts sound in the courtyard:  
  
"Long live King Uldred!"  
  
"May the gods bless him!"  
  
"We pledge our allegiance to King Uldred!"  
  
Dean nods, satisfied with the outcome. They've seen enough blood these last few days.   
  
"Very good. A messenger will be sent to the King, informing him of the death of Lord Azazel and that his warriors want to return to his services. You are free to return to your daily routines but your weapons will stay with us for the time being."   
  
"Well done, son," Bobbi smiles at Dean when the young man finishes his speech.   
  
The chieftain of Battle Shadows gives him a brief nod before walking towards the stable where he's left Castiel. "I need to see Cas. We can talk later."

* * *

"I thought you forgot about me," the brunet teases Dean when he steps inside.

"Yes I did, and I remembered only after we reached the woods," Dean deadpans and he looks so serious that Castiel isn't sure how to respond. "Really, Cas? You honestly thought I did?" the barbarian laughs when he notices a pang of hurt in those blue eyes. "You little fool," he adds affectionately, sitting beside Castiel and pulling him into a tight embrace.  
  
Castiel just hums contentedly against his neck, closing his eyes. It's been a while since he's felt so good and safe.  
  
"When are we going back to our fortress?" the prince asks.   
  
"I must talk with Sam and Bobbi and decide our next step. It may take a day or two. Meanwhile you need to rest; Bessabel will take care of you."   
  
"Sounds good. I can't wait till we get there." There is something in Castiel's voice which piques Dean's interest.  
  
"And why is that?" Dean arches his brow. "Why can't you wait?"   
  
The brunet pulls away, staring into the barbarian's eyes with a piercing gaze and adds:  
  
"Because I intend to ride you so hard that your cock will fall off!"  
  
Castiel's words render Dean speechless and he gapes at the prince sheepishly before bursting into loud laughter. Castiel joins him and they both laugh 'til Dean's lips find the smaller man's mouth, claiming it in a possessive kiss.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for much smut, very nsfw, wow :D
> 
> Manip by Irensupernatural.

They decide to stay at the Seven Falcons fortress for two more days. With Bessabel's help Castiel should fully recover by then. His minor burns were not the healer's main concern, but rather the inhaled smoke that could've damaged the prince's lungs. Castiel had been resisting the sorcerer's medicine like a stubborn child, insisting that he was perfectly fine. But when Dean threatened to tie him up and make him drink it by force the heir to the throne gave up and drank the bitter and smelly liquid, cringing and complaining so loudly that could not leave Dean without a smile. To Bessabel's and the young Chieftain's immense relief, the dry coughing that had been tormenting the brunet disappeared after two more bowls of the medicine.

After a short council Dean had decided to leave his fifty warriors at Azazel's fortress, instructing them to stay and wait there for further commands. The older Winchester's plan was to send messengers to Uldred, informing him that the owner of the Seven Falcons fortress was dead and that his men wanted to pledge allegiance to the king. And until Uldred's garrison arrived Dean's men would control the situation at the fortress.

Two days later, after burying their fallen comrades, a small army led by Dean the Doombringer leaves the Seven Falcons fortress behind. The gods and weather are benevolent and the way back to Sirnamor fortress is passed without obstacles.

After a merry meeting and solid meal Dean brings up the matter of Magnus. Sam, Bobbi, Castiel and Bessabel are sitting around the table, listening attentively.

"I'm thinking about decapitating him and then impaling his head on a spear." Dean sips his wine, waiting for his friends to speak.

"And then what? Hang the spear on the walls so people could see what a traitor he was?" Sam guesses his brother's thoughts.

"You've always been clever, Sammy," Dean chuckles.

"I think it's too drastic," Castiel remarks suddenly.

"Is there something on your mind, Cas?" Dean asks curiously. "Share it with us."

"I don't want you to kill him," the prince responds calmly, causing a deep frown on the barbarian's forehead.

"But he betrayed you and you almost died! And you do not want the bastard dead? I don't understand." Dean shakes his head, bewildered.

"His death will not give us anything. There must be other way." Castiel puts his fork down, glancing at the other men.

"I have a solution," Bessabel coughs awkwardly. "If I may suggest it, of course."

Dean nods. "Go ahead."

"When becoming a white sorcerer, one must give an oath to use his powers conscientiously, to help his people in times of trouble, because these are some essential commandments written by the gods. The deities considered that how one treats his own kind likewise would be his attitude towards them. Magnus is a white sorcerer, unlike the dark ones he has no marks on his cheeks. He has broken one of the rules by leading Castiel into a trap. Betrayal is a grievous sin in the eyes of the gods. They have already turned their backs on him and after his death his soul will not find peace but if you still want to punish him, I have a better solution than his death. The symbol of our faithfulness and loyalty is a cup full of water, in traitors' case it would be a cup turned upside down. I am offering to carve such cup on Magnus' forehead, so wherever he goes every other sorcerer can see that he's an oath breaker and will not lend him a helping hand." Bessabel pauses, giving the rest of the men time for consideration.

"That was ominous," Bobbi huffs out a brief remark and pets his cat, who's curled up in his lap, purring happily.

"I think I like your suggestion," Dean nods slowly, reanalyzing Bessabel's offer. "Should we vote? All those in favour, raise your hands!"

No one goes against it or refrains from voting. Thus, the verdict concerning Magnus' future is in.

Half an hour later the walls of the dungeon where Dean's former sorcerer is kept, shake from the desperate yelling when Bessabel's hand carves the upside down cup on Magnus forehead, accompanied by the spell so the wound won't disappear and stay on Magnus' skin as a lifelong reminder of his shame.

* * *

"You should be thankful to these people that I did not take your life!" Dean tells Magnus, who is standing at the gates with two guards at either side. "Consider this your last warning: if I ever see you again near these lands, I will kill you on the spot! Is it clear?"

Magnus nods slowly. His forehead is throbbing and still bleeding. Bessabel took care that the wound forever stays fresh looking and does not heal.

"Good. Get him out of here. I don't want to see his face anymore." Dean turns around and the guards open the heavy gates, throwing out the man they're grabbing.

"It's better than killing him," Bobbi assures his surrogate son. "He will remember it until the end of his days."

"He'd better. For his own sake," Dean responds gruffly. He's about to step inside the fortress when Castiel catches his wrist, making him turn around.

"Cas?" Dean asks, squinting his eyes when he notices mischievous sparkle in the prince's eyes. "What's on your mind?"

Castiel chuckles, thick and low. "Remember when I told you I was going to ride you?"

Dean almost chokes on his tongue, coughing and recalling the brunet's promise.

"Yes, I vaguely recall something like that," the green-eyed man smirks.

"Well, the time has come to keep my word. Come with me." Castiel smiles at him seductively, making Dean's heart skip a beat.

"If you say so," Dean rasps, and he takes Castiel's hand into his and follows the prince towards the bathing pool.

* * *

Castiel's hands spread foam down Dean's body, nose pressed to the green-eyed man's neck, nuzzling against the soft, wet skin. He sneaks languid, warm kisses to Dean's lips as his hands wash the young Chieftain's body. There's no need to rush, no one's after them and they have all the time they need.

Dean's hands knead the perfect globes of Castiel's firm ass, grabbing them greedily while his erection stands at attention and pokes the prince's belly.

"You are such a tease," Dean groans, slapping the younger man on the rear.

"Be patient, Dean," Castiel chuckles as he massages the older Winchester's shoulders and taut biceps.

"I can't. You're making it impossible." Dean's voice is much deeper, thick with primal lust and he's having a hard time controlling himself.

"Stop whining," Castiel laughs and yelps when he feels another soft slap on his ass.

"If you continue teasing then I will continue spanking you," Dean grabs him around his waist and smashes their lips together with one hand in Castiel's thick hair.

Both men moan into the kiss and rut against each other. Dean's impatient mouth keeps leaving love bites on Castiel's neck while the prince's hands scrape down the rippling muscles of the barbarian's back.

"We should get in the water," Castiel gasps for air after breaking the kiss, feeling that he will come untouched if they continue like this.

"Yes, definitely."

They spend the next few minutes in the pool of glittering warm water, kissing and biting at each other's lips. Dean presses Castiel against the edge of the pool, cradling his face and sucking at his bottom lip. The brunet's long legs are tightly wrapped around the young chieftain's waist and the smooth friction between their bodies makes Dean's blood boil.

"I can't take it any longer," the older Winchester growls, lifting the blue-eyed man and stepping out of the pool. "Time to keep your promise," he whispers hotly into Castiel's ear, nibbling at his earlobe.

Dean has seen many things in his life, some of which had been very erotic and arousing, but seeing Castiel stretching himself while straddling his thighs had to be the best amongst them.

The brunet's head is thrown back, exposing his neck and wildly beating veins. His legs are shaking as his hand moves fast and accurately inside his body. Dean's fingers leave white marks into his skin as he can't get enough of the sight which he witnesses with his lust-blown eyes.

Castiel fucks down on his own fingers and the pleasure is so intense that for a second he forgets about where he is or who he is with but Dean's guttural growl returns him to reality.

"Enough."

Panting out a sound of agreement Castiel slowly sinks down on Dean's throbbing and leaking erection. He whimpers from the slight burn and stretch but the green-eyed man's thumbs caress the dips of his hipbone gently, as if soothing and reassuring him to continue.

Castiel lets out a loud and lingering moan when he's got Dean's cock fully sheathed inside him. The feeling is fantastic and judging by Dean's blissful expression he thinks so too.

"Gods damn it, you're so tight, fuck!" Dean moans, grabbing Castiel's thighs. "You feel amazing, Cas!"

This is all the encouragement Castiel needs to hear and he rolls his hips, beginning with slow and careful motions. He lifts himself up and sinks back down on Dean's cock, panting and shaking, feeling how his inner walls clench around the other man's erection, enveloping it smoothly like a perfect glove.

His movements and pace increase when Castiel hears hoarse curses and moans of pleasure from the man below him. The brunet begins to ride Dean in earnest – lifting himself up to the point where only the tip of Dean's cock is left inside of him and then rapidly slides down.

Feeling the quickly approaching orgasm Dean plants his heels on the mosaic floor firmly and begins to thrust up, meeting Castiel's movements. His movements are deeper and harder, making Castiel arch his back and cry out in pleasure.

"Dean… Ah… right there… please do that again…" he moans, with his head thrown back and eyes closed.

The barbarian pulls him closer to capture Castiel's bitten and swollen lips, as his hands roam about the prince's sweat-slicked body. They will definitely need another bath after such naughty games!

"Of course, as you wish," Dean whispers, nailing Castiel's prostate nonstop.

A few more wild, almost brutal thrusts later both men find their release with loud and broken cries. Castiel's semen paints Dean's chest in white and the prince falls down on his lover, utterly exhausted but sated.

They both pant against each other, catching their breath while Dean's hand slides into Castiel's wet hair and softly massages his head.

"It was even better than I had imagined," Dean chuckles. "And I think you really did keep your promise. I can't feel my cock."

He begins shaking from laughter while Castiel snorts and calls him a fool.

* * *

The next few days Dean and Castiel mostly spend in the Chiftain's bedroom, engaging in carnal pleasures. When finally their lust is somewhat tamed they decide that it's time to look at the outside world too.

Bobbi huffs and calls them lovesick puppies as the two men head towards the royal garden. It's not a secret anymore that they have become lovers.

"I like this part of the garden," Castiel tells Dean when they pass the row of birches. "When I was little my father brought me a baby mountain goat which he had found wandering without its mother. Probably she got eaten by beasts and the little one survived by the will of the gods. I raised and took care of him, and named him Valto. He used to jump and play in these parts of the garden."

"What happened to him?" Dean asks, sensing sorrow in the blue-eyed man's voice.

"Well, he got bigger and stronger as time passed. And when spring came he became restless and would not stop screaming for his mate. One day he broke the cage and as the guards told me he simply jumped from the walls, running towards the mountains. That's where he truly belonged. But I was still a child and I cried for him. It still upsets me when I recall it." Castiel laughs a little, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm still not over it. I'm sorry to burden you with my silly thoughts."

"No, no," Dean shakes his hands. "It's not silly. I completely understand. I am very attached to my horse and I would be devastated if something happened to her."

"Thank you, Dean." Castiel smiles at him, bright and heartwarming. He leans forward and puts a brief kiss on Dean's lips. "I feel thirsty. I will go and get us something to drink. What would you like?"

"Um, whatever you like, Cas. I don't mind." Dean responds somewhat absentmindedly.

"Alright. I'll be back soon. Don't go anywhere," Castiel winks at him and walks towards the castle.

When the prince disappears into the depth of the fortress Dean turns around, throwing a glance at the mountains, which have started to cover in snow. The winter is coming, he can feel it in the air.

But Dean does not mind. There is a ripening plan in his head and nothing can stop him from fulfilling it.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, initially this chapter had to be about something totally different but I lost control over the fic, the characters live their own lives and dictate the rules to me not vice versa ;)
> 
> It's the shortest chapter from the whole fic (real life's been a bitch) but something major is happening here.

**Four months later**  
  
"Dean, are you sure about this?"   
  
Dean and Bobbi are sitting on the veranda, breathing in the crisp morning air. Rare snowflakes fall in a slow dance but both men know that it's just a trick: in a few hours everything will be hidden under snowdrifts and wrapped up in a white blanket. The winter has sneaked up upon them like a cautious predator, tiptoeing and approaching its prey, slowly but determinedly.  
  
"More than sure," Dean nods, throwing a tired glance at the older man. There had been some repairs needing to be done at the fortress and he'd volunteered to help; while he was glad to contribute in whatever way he could, he was still exhausted afterward.  
  
"I can't say that I am not befuddled by your decision but it's a nice surprise. Does Castiel know about this?" Bobbi turns to his adopted son.   
  
"No, I have not told him. I haven't talked to Sam either." Dean shifts on his seat. "I thought it would be the right thing to do."  
  
"I approve of your decision, son." Bobbi claps him on the shoulder.   
  
Dean chuckles nervously. "I just want Cas to be happy."  
  
"Oh, trust me, he is happy. You make that boy beam with joy. I can see it every morning," Bobbi laughs and Dean blushes furiously.   
  
"Alright, enough about me. What about you, Bobbi? What are your plans? I know you have some." The young chieftain decides that it's time to change the theme of the conversation.  
  
"Well, I plan to return to my house in Dragskallion. I think the time has come for me and my cat to get back there now, especially after Uldred rebuilt all the ruined houses and sent a garrison to protect the town from random rascals."  
  
Dean nods knowingly. "I understand. You'll be safe there."   
  
"I have no doubts about it."  
  
There is a lingering pause before Dean breaks the silence.   
  
"Do you think Uldred has found out that Azazel had kidnapped his son and was planning to burn him at the stake? I ordered the messengers and everyone at the Seven Falcons fortress to keep their mouths shut but somehow I am not certain that the king will not be informed about it."   
  
"Sooner or later Uldred will know. The truth cannot be hidden forever," Bobbi shakes his head.   
  
"Yes, I know," Dean mumbles. "Well, the good thing is that Azazel's warriors are in his service once again."  
  
"True. Let's drink to good things in this life," Bobbi raises his cup.  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Both men clink their cups and sink into their own deep thoughts. Moreover, the weather is appropriate for lapsing into a gloomy self-absorption. 

* * *

"Your majesty!"   
  
A man with grayish hair starts and turns around from the window, ceasing looking at the vast lands that lay before him. Time and heavy burden that has fallen upon his shoulders have surely taken a toll on his face; he looks exhausted and thin.   
  
"What is it?" his pleasant, deep voice fills the chamber.  
  
"My king, we have a messenger from Dean the Doomrbinger. He's brought some tidings in a letter."   
  
Uldred, for it's him, jerks nervously. What does the barbarian want now? Of course he'd been very bewildered and nicely surprised when Azazel's warriors pledged allegiance to him with the young Chieftain's tremendous help but with Dean one never knows what to expect.   
  
"Bring him in. Let him give me the letter and then take and feed him. He should rest until the morning when he takes my answer to his leader."   
  
The servant nods and leaves the chamber only to be back with the messenger who bows respectfully and hands the king a folded skin.   
  
"Sincere greetings from our valorous Chieftain, King Uldred," the messenger says.   
  
Uldred simply nods, taking the skin from the man's hands and gives them a sign to go. As the two men leave him behind in the chamber, the king takes a seat at the table, unfolding the skin and begins to read:  
  
_"I hail you King Uldred,_  
  
_I sincerely hope that you and your family are in good health and that the gods are benevolent towards you._  
  
_If you are wondering about your son's fate, I can assure you that Castiel is well, in a good state of mind and health. He's been treated according to his royal rank and seems to be content and satisfied with the circumstances._  
  
_Many things have changed during these past months. I had a lot of time to think about my actions, deeds and mistakes and I've come to the conclusion that to redeem myself to you, I need to make this step._  
  
_I will return the Sirnamor fortress to you when the spring comes and the snow melts. I know how roads are bad and dangerous at this time of the year. Therefore, you must wait until spring, for your own safety._  
  
_I, my brother and all my men will leave the fortress so you, your family and the suit can move in and reunite with your son, but in return I will have one favor to ask you:_  
  
_You will give us permission to live where our settlement is currently located. My people need a permanent home and they have found it here. From our side you will have our fists and swords if anything threatens your kingdom, which I've come to love._  
  
_Please give your answer to my messenger so I'm aware of your decision and of what to expect._  
  
_My warm greetings to lovely Queen Nolween and your daughters._  
  
_With kind wishes,_  
  
_Dean Winchester"_  
  
When Uldred finishes reading the letter, he stares blankly at the black ink and Dean's neat handwriting. The king blinks rapidly, trying to perceive the words he's just read but it seems like all the thoughts have left his head. He reads the letter again. Then again. And again.   
  
Finally, when it all starts to make sense, his hands begin to shake and to calm the overwhelming anxiety  that's devouring him Uldred pours some water into his cup, half of which he spills on the table.   
  
"Aziro!" The king calls, voice coming out raspy and hoarse.  
  
"Yes, my King?" a servant, middle-aged man with ginger hair, runs into the chamber readily.   
  
"Call the Queen and my daughters. I need them to come here immediately. Tell them it's very urgent." Uldred gulps down the water and puts the empty cup on the table.   
  
"Yes, your majesty." Noticing the king's state and his shaking hands Aziro runs out of the chamber in search of the rest of the royal family members, fearing that another misfortune has fallen upon them.   
  
Uldred dives out of his raging thoughts when hurried footsteps and frightened voices sound in the chamber.  
  
"Darling, are you well? What's the matter?" Nolween's sweet voice is like honey to Uldred's ears and he leans into the touch when the concerned woman cups his cheek.  
  
"Father, what happened?"  
  
"Why are you so pale?"  
  
"You look nervous. What's the reason for it?"  
  
The king's daughters pour questions at their father, surrounding him from every side.   
  
Uldred looks at them with a misty gaze, feeling how his eyes begin to water. And of course this makes things only worse, throwing the poor women into an utter panic mode.  
  
"Uldred, you are scaring us," Nolween pleads. "Please, for the love of the gods, what happened?"  
  
The king swallows loudly, wiping at his eyes before smiling and announcing with a shaking voice:  
  
"We are going home. Dean is returning the fortress."


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand here you go! Enjoy your bottom Dean ;)
> 
> Also, I am terribly sorry for not updating the fic. Due to the emergency situation I did not have time to write. The next chapter is almost ready and I promise I will update no later Sunday, December 20th.

"Dean, what are you thinking about?" Castiel stretches his limbs languidly on the crumpled satin bed sheets. There are still sweat beads that glisten on his naked body left over from their love games. 

When there comes no answer from his lover the young prince gets up and walks over to the older Winchester who's wearing a light green robe and staring through the window with a very concentrated look on his face.   
  
"I asked you what are you thinking about?" Castiel purrs into Dean's ear, snaking his arm around the barbarian's waist and raking his fingers gently down Dean's chiseled abdomen.   
  
"Huh?" Dean turns his head, withdrawn from his thoughts. "Oh. Nothing. Nothing to worry about, Cas. I was just looking at the mountains. Aren't they beautiful?"   
  
"Yes," Castiel nods his agreement. "They remind me of elders whose hair is whiter than the snow itself. Their eyes can see no more but still, they bear unfathomable wisdom and answers to many questions that have always been nagging mankind."   
  
"Wow," Dean chuckles, reaching his hand back to squeeze Castiel's buttock.  
  
"What?" the brunet frowns, not understanding the reason of Dean's amusement.   
  
"Isn't it too early for this philosophical conversation?" The green-eyed man turns around, pressing the smaller man against his warm body.  
  
Castiel rolls his eyes in a feigned frustration. "Do you have any other suggestions?"  
  
"I thought it was obvious?" Dean waggles his brows, rubbing his already half hard cock against Castiel's groin.   
  
"You are insatiable," Castiel laughs but does not resist when Dean seals their mouths together and scoops him up to carry towards the immense bed where they can continue their naughty and erotic escapades.   
  
Two hours later when a rumpled, exhausted and totally satisfied Castiel falls asleep, Dean sneaks out of the bedchamber to carry out his plan. 

* * *

Just like Bobbi, Dean is absent at the breakfast. The older man had left the previous day together with his cat. Everyone at the fortress had been sad to see him go but Bobbi desperately wanted to be back at his own place.   
  
Castiel looks at the people around the table. Besides him, the group consists of Sam, Jess and Bessabel. Jess's belly is getting bigger and the younger Winchester keeps fussing over her with so much worry and concern that she swats at his hand sometimes, complaining that she is pregnant not deathly ill. Things like these make Castiel smile and feel happy for the young couple.   
  
"Where is Dean?" the prince asks finally when his curiosity becomes unbearable.   
  
"Um, he said he had some things to do and that he'd be back at midday," Sam responds.   
  
"Dean needs to be careful as the weather is getting worse," Bessabel remarks. He's become a constant member of the Winchesters' narrow suit and often has breakfasts with them.   
  
"He'll be fine," Sam assures them. "He's not afraid of snow," he adds with a short laugh.   
  
"Let's hope so," Castiel mutters to himself, stirring his porridge without any appetite. He knows that it's silly but the prince can't help but feel inexplicable fear spreading its roots in to his soul.  
  
Turns out that Castiel's fears are not in vain. Five hours later when a blizzard hits the walls of the fortress and Dean is still not back the brunet can't find an escape from anxiety. And Castiel knows that things are really bad when Sam comes to him and says:  
  
"I think my brother is in trouble."  
  
"Where did he go? What did he tell you?" Castiel's throat clicks and he licks his dried lips.   
  
"He… he went to the mountains," Sam utters with a shaking voice.   
  
"Mountains?" Castiel's eyes go wide. "What on earth does he want in mountains in this godsawful weather?"  
  
"I don't know. All I know is that he wanted to make a surprise for you."   
  
"What?" Castiel looks lost and confused.   
  
Sam simply shrugs. "I don't know. That's all he told me."   
  
Castiel thinks feverishly. Mountains. What would Dean want in mountains? The barbarian had been acting a little strange lately, constantly looking at the mountains. What would it have to do with Castiel? What surprise was Sam talking about? Could it be… Could it be that…   
  
Oh no!  
  
"Oh my gods," Castiel whispers terrified. "Oh my gods, no!"  
  
"What? What is it?" Sam loses all the color from his face. "Tell me!"  
  
"I think he went to catch a mountain goat," the prince groans.   
  
"A mountain goat? What are you talking about?" Sam gapes at him.   
  
"When I was a little child I had a baby mountain goat, which escaped and I was very upset about it. I told Dean about it and now I think he's gone to catch one." Castiel's eyes are wide open, filled with fear and disbelief.   
  
"We need to find him. I sense that he's in trouble. I must go," Sam says, ready to run out from the chamber and the fortress.  
  
"No," the brunet says suddenly. "You need to stay here with Jess. I will go and find him."  
  
"Have you lost your mind? I can't stay here while my brother is out there, gods know where and what is wrong with him," Sam exclaims agitated.   
  
"Listen to me, Sam," Castiel begins calmly. "I understand your urges for help but you do not know the mountains. A few steps and you're lost without a hope of finding your way back. There are many passages, most of them dangerous, especially now when hidden under the snow and if you do not know where to step you are a dead man in the blink of an eye. I need you to stay here and wait for him. Maybe he's somewhere close already? You could search the nearby surroundings, send a few groups out. Do whatever you want just don't go to the mountains."  
  
"You are asking for an impossible thing," Sam shakes his head.  
  
"I know," Castiel nods, placing his hand on the younger Winchester's shoulder. "But still, I need you to do it."   
  
"What about you?" Sam asks after a long pause. "The mountains are huge. Dean could be anywhere. How will you find him alone?"  
  
"I'll be fine. I know these mountains just like the back of my hand. And there's only one place he could be at if he really wanted to catch a goat. If the blizzard gets stronger I know some places where I can find shelter. Do not worry about me. I will be back with your brother."   
  
Castiel does not wait for Sam's further questions. He goes to get ready and begin the search for the lost man who's become very dear to his heart and soul. 

* * *

The path is rough and hard from the ice. The blizzard throws snowflakes into his eyes, making it even more difficult to see. Evening is quickly approaching and Castiel knows that he must hurry before the darkness falls when it will be impossible to continue his search.   
  
The young prince maneuvers his horse and the animal turns left, walking up the scarp slope. Castiel coos gently, soothing the horse to make it go slow and cautiously. Surprisingly, it complies obediently, moving forward gingerly.  
  
Castiel is headed towards a small waterfall, half frozen at this time of the year, where the mountain goats go to drink their water. But his hopes shutter completely when there's no trace of Dean or goats.   
  
"Where are you, Dean?" Castiel whispers, looking around. His blood is pumping through his veins and heart beating somewhere in his throat.   
  
Cold sweat begins to cover the young man's forehead when the worst and the darkest thoughts begin to creep and fill his mind.   
  
"No, he is alive! Leave me alone!" the brunet shakes his head, refusing to believe that Dean has perished in these mountains.  
  
As if proof of his assumptions, there is a distant and faint neighing that reaches Castiel's hearing.   
  
"Dean!" Castiel cries out, straining his ears and eyes to figure out where the noise is coming from. North. It's sounding from the north.

Castiel spurs his horse and takes the necessary direction. The snow and ice are thicker in these parts of the mountains and it's more difficult to move through it. After a few minutes of agonizingly slow movements and rising desperation Castiel can clearly see the silhouette of Impala, Dean's beloved horse.   
  
The prince dismounts his horse and walks the remaining few feet to reach the horse.   
  
"Hey, hey!" the young man exclaims excited, petting the horse gently. "Where is your master?"   
  
Impala snorts and stomps the ground with its front leg near a tall snow drift.   
  
Castiel squints his eyes, confused at first but then realization dawns on him.  
  
"Oh, gods!" he drops down on his knees and begins to dig, working fast and fervently.   
  
A few seconds, which seem like eternity, pass before Castiel can see Dean's ghostly white face. The barbarian's eyelashes and brows are covered in tiny icy threads and he does not seem to be breathing.  
  
"Dean! Look at me! Dean!" Castiel pulls him out of the snow and begins to slap in the face. "Open your eyes! Don't you dare to die! Do you understand me?"   
  
The frozen man groans weakly and his eyelashes flutter open. When Castiel sees the eyes, green like a fresh spring grass, he lets out a shaking breath he does not know he's been holding.   
  
"Cas…" Dean whispers hoarsely.   
  
"Yes. We need to get out of here. The blizzard is getting stronger and it's already dark. We can't go back to the fortress right now. We should wait it out." Castiel is babbling and he knows it but he does not care. Dean is alive and it's all that matters right now.  
  
"Come on, Dean. We need to find shelter. I know a cave and we can spend the night there." The brunet pulls at Dean's arm.  
  
"I have something for you," Dean says weakly. "Unbutton my coat."   
  
"Not now, later. We need to…" Castiel begins but gets interrupted.   
  
"Please…"  
  
"Alright." With shaking and numb fingers Castiel unbuttons Dean's fur coat and gasps loudly.   
  
There is a little baby goat, nestled against Dean's chest, sleeping and sniffling in its dream. It does not look older than a week.   
  
"Dean," Castiel croaks, overwhelmed with emotions. "Did you risk your life to get this baby for me?"   
  
"I wanted to make you happy," the older Winchester smiles. "I hope you like it, Cas."   
  
"I am. I am very happy. Thank you. I can't believe it," Castiel looks bewildered. He surges forward and kisses the man below him hard and passionately. He puts all his emotions and feelings into the kiss, wanting Dean to feel how much he appreciates all his efforts.   
  
Due to Dean's coughing they are forced to break the kiss. The green-eyed man looks pale and his lips have turned blue from cold.   
  
"You are frozen. You need warmth immediately or you may die. We need to get you in the cave. I can build a fire there. Come, let's get you on the horse." Castiel is worried, seeing how weakened Dean seems.   
  
"What happened to you? How did you manage to end up in snow?"   
  
"I found this baby without its smother. Maybe it was abandoned or orphaned who knows. On the way back Impala was frightened by a flock of vultures that were flying above us. One of them attacked us. Impala reared and unfortunately I fell off, hitting my head against a stone. I don't know how long I've been out but it seems no less than two hours as I've been snowed in quite deeply." Dean informs him from the saddle. He's swaying and Castiel needs to handle both horses, holding their reins. Thankfully the cave he knows is not far away.  
  
The cave is small but it's still big enough for the two horses and their riders. It's dry and there is a lot of wood, branches and moss inside it. A lot of hunters use this place as shelter and they leave sufficient material to build fire for those who may come and stay after them.   
  
Castiel helps Dean sit down and lean against the wall, while he takes their horses to the entrance of the cave. They will block the cold, preventing it from seeping in. Surprisingly, there is some straw in the cave as well, so they will not stay hungry.   
  
The prince returns to Dean, checking on him. The barbarian is still pale and shaking.   
  
"I need you to hold on for me, Dean. It will be better soon. I promise." He places a quick kiss on his lover's lips before turning around and gathering all the necessary things to build a fire.   
  
Thanks to Castiel's skillful hands soon after a small fire blazes up, spreading much-needed warmth in the cave.   
  
"Let's free this baby from your trap," Castiel chuckles and pulls out the baby goat from Dean's coat, putting it near the fire. The little animal makes a tiny, bleating noise but does not wake up.   
  
"Now, come with me," the brunet helps Dean walk toward the fire. "It will get better."   
  
"Thanks, Cas," the older Winchester rasps and sits down, rubbing his numb hands over the fire.   
  
"Here, drink this," Castiel says as he hands him a small flask. "Bessabel gave it to me. He says it will warm you up."   
  
Dean takes the flask, making a few sips before handing it back to the prince.   
  
"Tastes like shit."   
  
"Quit complaining," the brunet chuckles, sitting next to Dean.   
  
"I'm not. I'm saying the truth." Dean's lips quirk into a smirk.   
  
They fall silent for a while, both men occupied with their own thoughts when Castiel feels tremors beside him. His heart almost stops beating when he notices Dean, shaking wildly and chattering his teeth.   
  
"It's… it's not… helping…." Dean mumbles. "I will die."  
  
"Stop talking nonsense. I won't let you die." Castiel stands up and begins to undress. "Dean, take off your clothes."   
  
"Cas, as much as… I love making love t-to you… I d-don't think I can do it r-right now," Dean's hoarse laughter lingers in the cave.  
  
"Dean, I'm going to warm you up and I need you to do what I tell you, please." Castiel tugs at his hand.   
  
The prince stretches his own fur coat on the ground and asks Dean to lay on it. Furiously shaking and very naked Dean Winchester complies and does as Castiel asks. The brunet turns him on the side so Dean's back is towards the fire.   
  
Castiel wraps himself around Dean as tightly as he can, draping his arms and legs over the barbarian's back and thighs as he presses their chests together and waits for Dean to warm.  
  
"I think it's working," Dean says after a while and it's true, little by little cold retreats and his skin begins to regain the normal pink color.   
  
"I'm glad to hear it." Castiel presses tighter against Dean's front, one hand massaging from his back down to his ass. A pleased moan from Dean indicates that he's doing a great job.   
  
None of them realize how the massaging turns into rutting into each other, panting and loud moans that leave their mouths in hot puffs of air.   
  
"Dean, do you trust me?" Castiel asks, looking into the greenness before him.   
  
"With all my life," the older Winchester responds and that's more than enough for Castiel.  
  
"Then please let me show you what I feel when you make love to me."  
  
Dean is breathing hard, his pupils are dilated, chest flushed red, rising and falling with each breath he takes.   
  
"Alright," he nods briefly. "But Cas, I've never… I mean I never…"  
  
"It's alright," Castiel smiles at him. "I will not hurt you. And you can tell me to stop anytime you want."  
  
As a sign of his agreement the green-eyed man squeezes Castiel's hand.

* * *

Dean feels like he's in trance, like there's not enough air to breathe as Castiel is trying to suck it out of him through his dick. He can only moan and spread his legs wide to give a better access to the younger man whose head is working earnestly between Dean's parted legs.   
  
The older Winchester puts his hand on Castiel's head, grabbing the handful of dark locks, tugging at it slightly 'til Castiel's sinful mouth pops off his cock with a wet sound and he gives him an innocent look. Seeing his lover looking so pure yet so dirty almost makes him come right there and then.

"Is there something wrong? Do you want me to stop?" Castiel asks with false innocence, knowing pretty well that Dean will refuse.  
  
"Fuck, just continue, Cas. Damn it!" Dean bucks his hips when the brunet's tongue tickles his slit and then slides down to his balls. And he has to bite his fist to refrain from screaming when the prince hums with Dean's cock in his mouth.   
  
The Chieftain of Battle Shadows is swimming in sweet delirium when he feels Castiel's fingers at his lips. Without a second's hesitation Dean opens his mouth, letting them in. With lewd and loud moans he sucks on them, coating the digits in enough saliva while looking into Castiel's lust blown eyes.   
  
Dean hisses slightly when he feels a fluttering touch at his hole. He instinctively wants to close his legs but Castiel's soothing voice and kisses make him change his mind. The brunet's other hand is rubbing circles on Dean's chest, playing with his erect nipples. It's enough for the older Winchester to relax again and yield to the loving hands.   
  
Dean takes a deep breath when the first finger slides into him, caressing the inner walls. It's not as bad and uncomfortable as he thought it'd be. A few seconds later he nods and Castiel adds another finger. The prince is very careful, going slow and gingerly.   
  
When the fingers move freely inside Dean begins to move, rolling his hips and making impatient sounds, indicating that he's ready for something much bigger than those fingers.   
  
"Please, Cas," he moans. "Give it to me."  
  
"Of course, Dean," Castiel grunts, feeling how Dean's hole is clenching around his fingers.   
  
The brunet licks his palm to gather enough moisture to slick his throbbing cock. He knows that saliva is not the best option for Dean's first time but this is all they've got, so they must flow with it.   
  
"Relax, Dean" Castiel whispers as he presses the tip of his erection to the tight ring of muscles.   
  
Dean hisses and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip when Castiel pushes in.  The thick girth of the brunet's cock stretches him and it burns slightly but not to the point of unbearable pain.   
  
"Are you alright?" Castiel asks, stopping his movements.  
  
"Yes. Yes, keep going," Dean nods, grasping at Castiel's shoulders.  
  
The prince covers his body with his own, wrapping Dean's legs around his waist and slides all the way in. Both men let out a loud moan when Castiel's groin presses against the barbarian's ass.   
  
Castiel begins with slow and cautious rolls of his hips, giving Dean time to adjust but when the older Winchester starts to fidget and move his hips impatiently Castiel knows that he can act more boldly. That's when he begins to fuck Dean in earnest.   
  
The blue-eyed man grabs Dean's hips and sets a rapid pace, thrusting in and out with hard and fast movements, making Dean cry out and tremble every time he hits the sensitive spot deep inside.   
  
Dean wraps his hand around Castiel's neck, pulling him closer until their lips meet in a biting, bruising yet sweet kiss.   
  
Without pulling apart Castiel keeps rolling his hips, pushing in and out, slapping against Dean's ass making the green-eyed man quiver and pant beneath him.   
  
"Cas, I'm close," Dean whines and jerks as the brunet keeps hammering into his prostate.   
  
"Good, let me help you get there." Castiel nips at his lover's neck as his fingers curl around Dean's cock with the dark purple head that is leaking copious amount of precum. The brunet begins pumping Dean's erection, sliding the pad of his thumb over the head, taking a great pleasure when the older Winchester whimpers and thrusts into his fist.   
  
Dean feels the heat like molten lava rise from the pit of his stomach and it spreads fast. He tenses up and arches his back when a wave of powerful orgasm crashes down on him sending him into the turmoil of bliss. With a loud cry Dean paints Castiel's fist and his abdomen in white.  
  
Castiel makes a few more sharp thrusts before finding his release inside Dean. With a broken moan he presses his forehead to the barbarian's shoulder, feeling the green-eyed man's pulsing hole clenching around him.   
  
When he regains his breathing Castiel slides out gingerly and lies beside his lover. They kiss lazily, taking their time.  
  
"Do you still feel cold?" the prince asks gently, caressing Dean's thigh.   
  
"Are you joking?" Dean laughs. "I could go outside naked and run for an hour."  
  
"I would not suggest doing so," the brunet chuckles and snuggles closer. "I'm glad you're feeling better."  
  
"I feel great," Dean smiles at him, eyes full of affection. "What we did, it was perfect and amazing."   
  
"I'm glad you appreciated my efforts," Castiel grins. "But I'm afraid we will have to stay here for tonight. It's too dangerous to leave now."  
  
"We will be fine. It's warm here and we're safe. Though, I would not mind something to eat. You took all my energy away," Dean winks at the brunet before stretching on the fur coat they're lying on and tucking his hands under his head.  
  
"Aren't you lucky?" Castiel snorts, reaching for his bag. "I've got some food here. Have no fear, we will not die of hunger."   
  
Dean laughs heartily and tackles the smaller man on the ground, claiming his mouth in a heated kiss.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I guess you could call this the end of the story but I will be adding a short epilogue after the new year. 
> 
> Merry Christmas, dear readers! I wish you all the best! See you next year!

The first thing Sam Winchester does is punch his older brother in the jaw with a bone-crushing force and yell at Castiel when they enter the courtyard the next morning. Sam looks exhausted, his eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep and anxiety.

"Where in the Underworld were you?" the young man demands after his rage disperses and he hugs both men, repeatedly apologizing to Castiel for shouting at him.

"I needed to get something for Cas," Dean chuckles, still rubbing his jaw. Damn, it hurts quite bad.

"And what is it?" Sam looks around. "I don't see anything."

Dean parts the edges of his fur coat and Sam gasps in surprised awe at the sight of a baby goat, which looks hungry and disgruntled.

"Dean, let me find someone who will take care of him." Castiel turns to the green-eyed man and takes the goat from his arms.

Dean gives him a reassuring smile. "Sure. He'll be fine."

"So, are you going to tell me what happened?" Sam inquires as soon as Castiel walks off towards the stable.

"Well, there's nothing much to say. Cas had a mountain goat in his childhood but it ran off and he still missed the damn animal. I decided to go to the mountains and get a new one. When I found this baby, we were attacked by a flock of vultures, Impala spooked and I fell off and hit my head. By some miracle Cas found me and we stayed in one of the caves in the mountains because the weather wouldn't allow us to leave. Are you happy now?"

"More than happy," Sam nods. "We should get inside. It's getting colder and judging by the look of the skies another blizzard is coming."

"We need to talk," Dean says suddenly.

"About what?"

"About this fortress. About us." Dean looks around nervously, hoping that Castiel has not returned yet.

"What's happening, Dean?" A deep crease appears between Sam's brows.

"I decided to return the fortress to Uldred and his family. They will come in spring, when the snow has already melted," Dean responds quietly. "I hope that my decision is not upsetting you."

"Um… no, no it's not… but… Does Cas know about this?" Sam gapes at his brother in shock.

"No and I do not want him to know until the time comes." Dean sighs, looking at the door of the castle. "Let's get inside. Now I'm really getting cold."

With a heavy heart and a nagging feeling Sam follows his brother inside the castle. Things are changing and no one knows for better or the worse.

* * *

                                                                              **The seventh day of the month of Awakening**

The dreadful winter that every inhabitant of Vali Isuria hated so much had started to retreat, leaving puddles of melted snow and dirty slush behind. Trees had shaken off the white burden, straightening and stretching their branches, welcoming little birds that had begun their songs, praising the approaching spring. Violets and daffodils had started to wake up and peek out, covering the hills and fields of the kingdom. Nature had awoken, bringing back the will to live.

On one such spring day when the night has already descended on the earth in her chariot, there is a knock on Dean's chamber door.

The young barbarian is ready to go to bed and join his naked lover, who is biting his lips in anticipation, but the matter must be urgent if someone has come to his door so late.

"What is it?" Dean asks grumpily when he opens the door, looking at the man behind the door.

"I am sorry Chieftain, but we had a messenger who brought this for you." The man gives the folded skin to Dean.

"Where is he?" the older Winchester takes the letter.

"He left immediately. Did not want to stay. He said it was from the King."

Dean's heart makes a flip in his chest. Could it be that Uldred and his family want to return in the nearest weeks? Probably so, as the time had slowly but determinedly slipped away, like sand through fingers.

"Alright, thank you." Dean dismisses the man and closes the door.

"What's happening? Is everything alright?" Castiel asks from the depth of the chamber, rolling on the velvety bed-sheets, clearly losing his patience.

"Yes. Just give me a minute, Cas, alright? I'll be right back." The green-eyed man unfolds the letter, quickly reading the lines.

_"My warm greetings to you, Dean the Doombringer._

_Apologies if my message irritates you, but I simply wanted to remind you of your given promise and I trust your honesty and noble word._

_I would like to tell you that I, together with my family and suit, will be returning to the fortress in three days. I would like to meet Castiel in the Grove of Justice in three days at noon time and we will return to the fortress together. Meanwhile, you will have enough time for your departure and can go to the settlement._

_I hope that my offer is acceptable and in no way offending to you._

_With the kindest wishes,_

_King Uldred"_

With trembling fingers and a heavily thudding heart Dean folds the skin and throws it on the table. No, he must not show Castiel what a devastating storm is raging in his soul right now.

"Dean?" the young prince asks concerned when he sees his lover's paled face. "Was there something disturbing in the message?"

"No, no. It's fine, don't worry," the older Winchester lies right through his teeth.

"If you say so," Castiel chuckles low. "Come here." He pulls the chieftain of Battle Shadows closer, kissing him heatedly.

"By the way, someone wants to meet you in the Grove of Justice in three days at noon time," Dean mumbles, after breaking the kiss.

"Hmm, and may I know who?" Castiel grins at him.

"You will see. It's a surprise." Dean puts all of his efforts into the wink.

"Fine." Castiel shrugs nonchalantly. "We can go together."

"No. They asked that you be alone." Dean shakes his head, letting out a bitter chuckle.

"Hmm, alright. I'll find out what they want in three days then. Now, can we please continue?" The prince smirks temptingly.

Dean Winchester is extra loving and gentle that night. He slides and thrusts into his lover's body slowly, stretching his time. He kisses every inch of Castiel's skin sweetly, as if trying to remember and sear into his mind how the brunet tastes or smells. Like he is trying to leave his own marks on the moaning man's flesh as a farewell gift.

Three days later despite Castiel's efforts, Dean categorically refuses to accompany him into the grove. The prince sighs in defeat and is ready to mount his horse when Dean crushes him into a hug, almost choking. There is something about this embrace which Castiel does not like. Like it's full of desperation.

"You're hugging me like it's the last time we're seeing each other," the brunet laughs and Dean almost groans.

"Just… just be careful, alright?" the barbarian mumbles into Castiel's hair, inhaling the scent of it.

"Of course," Castiel murmurs in reply and kisses him quickly before getting into the saddle.

As soon as the prince is out of the gates, Dean turns to his brother and Jess.

"Time to get started."

Sam does not miss the devastated look on his sibling's face, and his heart clenches in sympathy.

* * *

As soon as Castiel enters the grove his pulse quickens and senses sharpen. He feels that something very important must happen now. His anxiety transfers to his steed and the horse begins to shake its head, snorting in agitation.

The young man keeps looking around, searching for this surprise visitor but there is no one. As time passes Castiel begins to think that he's been deceived and turns his horse around to leave the grove when there is a familiar voice calling out his name.

"Castiel…"

The heir to the throne freezes, all blood leaving his face like he encountered a dead spirit.

"F-Father?" the young man stutters, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Uldred, for it's him, comes out from behind the trees. Castiel quickly dismounts the horse and runs to meet him.

After an emotional hug Uldred smiles, looking at his son.

"You look good."

"What are you doing here, Father?" Castiel asks, befuddled. "I am utterly happy to see you but how? Why?"

Uldred grins, petting his son on the cheek. "I have some things to tell you."

"Which are?"

"In due time. But first, don't you want to see your mother and sisters?" Uldred laughs when he sees Castiel's amazed expression. The king turns his head towards the tall trees and waves his hand. One by one Queen Nolween and Castiel's sisters appear, crying and laughing at the same time.

"What is happening?" the young man keeps muttering, surrounded by the women, getting kissed and embraced.

"Son," Uldred announces triumphantly, clapping Castiel on the shoulder "We've come back to live in our fortress. Dean has returned it to us."

* * *

On the way back to the Sirnamor fortress, despite the happiness caused by his parents' and siblings visit, Castiel can't help but feel increasingly anxious as a bad presentiment eats at him from the inside. He is silent and grim, and anger bubbles and stirs in his soul. How could Dean have kept silent and not told him about his plans? Did he not trust Castiel?

With such dreadful thoughts and sparse answers to the questions from his parents Castiel reaches the fortress. Without waiting for anyone the young man jumps down from the saddle and rushes into the courtyard, not noticing the concerned looks of his parents.

"Dean!" Castiel shouts angrily.

After a while when no one answers his calls and when he cannot find the barbarian chieftain anywhere, someone appears in the shadows, walking from the direction of royal stables. When the man gets closer Castiel can recognize Bessabel.

After greeting the royal family, he turns to the young man.

"My Prince," the man bows.

"Where is Dean? Where is everybody?" Castiel swallows loudly, his mouth going dry.

"They left," the healer answers briefly.

"What?" Castiel croaks, feeling how his legs are becoming limp.

"They left the fortress. Dean ordered me to stay here and wait for your return."

"W-why? And where did they go?" Castiel feels a huge lump in his throat and an agonizing feeling of betrayal.

"They moved to the settlement." The man answers awkwardly, feeling the tangible tension in the air.

"But why would they do it?" Castiel whispers, ready to fall down on his knees in despair.

"Let me answer that question," Uldred cuts in, dismissing Bessabel.

"What?" The prince looks at his father, puzzled.

"Dean decided to return the fortress to us. He and I had an agreement that it would happen this spring. I sent a letter to him a few days ago, saying that I wanted to meet you at the Grove of Justice and while you'd be with us he would have enough time for preparations to go to the settlement."

A few minutes pass before Castiel fathoms his father's words. So this is the reason why Dean was acting so strange. The reason why he was so loving and gentle, as if saying goodbye to him. Wait, what?

"No!" Castiel shakes his head. "This is not right. I must find and convince him to return to the fortress. This is where he belongs now."

"What are you talking about, Castiel?" Uldred frowns.

"You do not understand, father!" Castiel begins to protest.

"Understand what? Why do you care so much about him? He's just a foreigner, a barbarian who wanted to…" But Uldred gets harshly interrupted.

"You know nothing, father!" Castiel shouts, shaking. "He saved my life when Azazel kidnapped me and tried to burn me at the stake! Dean and his people fought tooth and nail to rescue me! Dean literally dragged me from the fire before it would've devoured me!"

Now it's Uldred's time to become bewildered.

"I did not know this. No one told me!"

"Because he ordered everyone to keep quiet! He did not want you, Mother or my sisters to die of worry! Dean is a good man! He has changed!" Castiel grabs his head in despair.

"That is a very noble act from his side but I still do not understand why you care about him so much?" the king begins warily.

"You don't?" Castiel gapes at him. Then he takes a deep breath and adds:

"Because I love him!" The young man does not wait for his father's response. He returns to his horse, ready to mount again when the king speaks:

"Shut the gates!"

"Father!" Castiel turns around, enraged. "Don't you dare!"

"I said, SHUT THE DAMN GATES!" Uldred roars, causing the dead silence fall.

With hurried steps two warriors from the king's suit shut the massive gates, locking it with thick iron bars.

"Castiel," Uldred calls demandingly. "You shall not leave this place until I say so."

"And what if I do?" Castiel jerks his chin up, staring down his father in challenge.

"Darling," Nolween gently squeezes her husband's hand. "Please, don't."

Castiel's sisters are looking at their father and sibling pleadingly, silently begging to calm down.

"You shall not leave this fortress until I make an announcement," the king says suddenly.

"Announcement? What announcement?" Castiel shares doubtful looks with his mother.

Instead of an answer Uldred turns to Bessabel, giving him a brief order.

"Gather everyone, every local you can find. Tell them the king wants to make an important announcement!"

Three hours later when the courtyard and the streets are overcrowded with noisy and happy people, joyful to see their king return, Uldred makes the announcement:

Same sex marriage shall no longer be prohibited!

The merry shouts and exciting yelling the king's words cause are truly deafening.

* * *

"Cas, what are you doing here?" Sam huffs a surprised laugh when the prince storms into his little house at the settlement.

"Why, Sam? What have I done to deserve such treatment?" Castiel asks bitterly, his voice thick with emotion.

Sam hangs his head. "I'm sorry. It was Dean's decision. He thought it was the right thing to do."

"My Prince, please take a seat," Jess offers warmly. "Would you like something to drink?"

The brunet shakes his head vigorously. "No, thank you, Jess. I am so nervous now that I'm afraid I would just throw it back up."

The girl nods knowingly.

Castiel clenches his fist, ready to slam it against the wall in frustration. "Where is your brother, Sam? He is not at the settlement either."

"I do not know. He said he wanted to be alone for some time. Dean took Impala but I don't know where he went to. I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Castiel nods briefly before walking out of the house.

If Dean is not at the fortress and the settlement there may be one place where he can be hiding. And Castiel knows where to search for him!

* * *

As soon as the older Winchester steps inside, dropping the pile of wood on the ground he is slammed against the stone wall and the force just knocks all the air out of his lungs.

"What the fuck?" Dean shouts, not expecting a sudden attack.

"I could ask you the same question, you assbutt!" a very angry and familiar voice yells right into his face before a fist connects with Dean's jaw.

"Assbutt?" Dean asks in confusion, recognizing his lover who looks like a wrathful demon of the Underworld in the dim light of the fire in the cave. "What are you doing here, Cas?"

"What am I doing here? No, you tell me what you are doing here, Dean! Why did you leave me? Why did you not tell me anything about your and my father's decision, instead of keeping it a secret and leaving like a coward! Why? Tell me why? I deserve an explanation!" Castiel is shaking, his hands grabbing Dean's shirt.

Dean places his warm palms over Castiel's, sighing softly.

"I thought it would be better for you if I left. I knew how much you missed your family and I simply wanted you to be happy. Maybe I didn't try my best."

"Who gave you the right to decide what's better for me? Have you thought how I'd feel without you by me side? Have you, Dean? Does all of the time that we spent together mean nothing for you? Do I mean nothing to you?" Castiel's voice breaks at the last words, tears beginning to fill up his eyes.

"You mean the world to me, Cas," Dean whispers. "But we cannot be together. Your father would never allow it."

Castiel steps back, giving the barbarian an amused look, sadness momentarily forgotten.

"Is that the only reason?"

"Yes."

"Would you marry me if it were possible?" Castiel holds his breath, feeling that his world may crash down like a sand castle depending on Dean's answer.

"Without hesitation."

Castiel whimpers, cupping Dean's cheeks, and after a long kiss he leaves on the barbarian's full lips, adds:

"I have some glad tidings for you then. A few hours ago my father issued a new law which allows marriage between two people of the same sex."

"What? Wait a second, I don't understand. Does this mean… does it mean that…" Dean stutters, confused and lost for words.

"It means that I want you Dean Winchester, the older son of John Winchester, to marry me! Would you…"

Instead of an actual answer the green-eyed man lunges forward, wrapping one arm around Castiel's waist and pressing him against his chest, while his other hand curls around the brunet's nape and their lips connect in a bruising kiss.

"So the answer is yes?" Castiel chuckles happily, pulling away to inhale needed air.

"Of course."

"Good," Castiel purrs, burying his nose into Dean's chest. "But I have some things to ask you and I need you to agree."

"Huh, sounds frightening," Dean laughs, rubbing Castiel's back gently. "Carry on, tell me."

"You, Sam, and Jess will return to the fortress. She will give birth to their first child soon and they need good conditions which we can provide it there. And you, my dear future husband, I need you to be by my side, everywhere and all the time."

"Yuck, even when I take a piss?" Dean bursts out laughing when he sees Castiel's cringing face.

"What a fool you are," the brunet huffs.

"Yes, but you still love me," Dean smiles, his eyes shining affectionately at his lover.

"I do," Castiel nods. "And now, would you be so kind as to move your precious ass so you can talk to your future father-in-law about our wedding arrangement?"

Even in the shadows Castiel can see Dean's suddenly whitened face and laughs hysterically when the barbarian mumbles a frightened:

"Gods, please help and protect me from Uldred's wrath!"

Castiel walks out of the cave, feeling as if he's been reborn. Suddenly the world does not seem so dull anymore.

He keeps walking and chuckling, listening to the worried rambling of his fiancee, who suddenly seems lost and afraid of approaching the king to ask for his son's hand.

But Castiel knows that it will not be an obstacle they can't overcome.

With a hearty laugh Castiel shouts at Dean to move his lazy ass one more time and mounts his horse.

* * *

Somewhere on the dusty road, a sudden breeze carries a crumpled paper with faded letters which read:

_"Shame and tears are what the young heir will bring to the kingdom, throwing it to the beast for laceration."_

Another blow of breeze turns the paper, revealing the lines written on the back of it:

_"But instead the beast shall curl around it defensively, protecting it with all his might."_

 


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thank you goes to my wonderful beta Zana Zira, Irensuperntural for amazing art and my awesome readers who supported me all the way with their kudos and comments!
> 
> This epilogue actually takes place right after the chapter 5. You know how a film ends and when credits roll there is a little extra scene in there. It’s something like that because I just could not leave these babies like that ;)
> 
> Thank you so much once again!
> 
> P.S I have signed up for Cockles Big Bang and my next fic should be that.
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE: if this chapter/reincarnation/Quintus/Dean situation seems confusing please read the comments where I explain what's going on. Enjoy my lovelies :)

A pleasant melody plucked from the strings of a harp fills the chamber, resonating from the tall walls. In the center sits a young woman upon a golden throne. She is beautiful. Ethereal, unearthly. Lean, delicate fingers adorned with exquisite rings pinch fat, juicy grapes between their tips and carry them to her waiting mouth. A scarlet dress with a deep cleavage wraps her slender body perfectly, emphasizing her round, full, snow-white breasts. The cascade of light brown locks that fall on her shoulders and chest moves with every breath she takes. Her blue eyes shimmer with pure joy as she listens to the divine melody. From time to time she looks to the side, where a hound size of an ox is gnawing at something between his paws.  
  
"Who's my good boy?" she murmurs sweetly.   
  
The bark that the hound emits cracks one of the walls and his wagging tail shatters one of the chairs. But she only chuckles and pats the beast.   
  
But the peace and idyll is broken momentarily when there is an enraged shout from the corridor:  
  
"Persephone!"  
  
"Oh, here we go again." The woman purses her full lips in discontent. The hound whines pitifully, dropping the bone and trying to hide under the table.   
  
"Thank you, Elitya. It was beautiful. You are free to go," the woman addresses the musician.  
  
"It was my pleasure, my lady." Elitya bows and leaves the chamber quickly. She knows that it's not wise to encounter the angry master in the depths of the corridor.   
  
"There you are!"   
  
A man with long, curly chestnut hair storms into the chamber. His posture and appearance radiate sheer power and might. Black, fathomless eyes flash thunder and lightning behind them.   
  
"Why did you do it, Persephone?" the man yells, stopping in front of the throne. His chest is heaving behind his folded arms.  
  
Suddenly the left head of the hound lets out a strange sound and a few seconds later it vomits on the floor.  
  
"Oh look what you did now. You scared Cerberus," the young woman reprimands him, frowning.  
  
"I asked you a question! Why did you do it?"   
  
"Do what, Hades?" Persephone feigns innocence, fluttering her eyelashes naively.  
  
"Oh, please." Hades rolls his eyes. "As if you have no idea what I'm talking about."  
  
"Enlighten me," the woman smiles slyly, putting another grape into her mouth.   
  
"Why did you take the piece of that gladiator's soul? We, even the gods do not have a right to break the rules!" Hades slides his hand through his hair nervously, shaking his head in disbelief.   
  
"Why? Because I had to!" Persephone stands up, leaving the throne and walking towards her husband. "I had to because it would be a big mistake and injustice to separate him from that poor boy. Don't act like you do not know what true love means," she murmurs, cupping the man's cheek.   
  
Hypnotized by his wife's warm and loving look Hades sighs defeated.   
  
"Alright, but what happens now?"   
  
"When the time comes for him to be reborn I will send the piece of his soul to the future. He will be born in a different time and world. The memories of his past life will be buried deep inside his subconscious mind and he may recall them unwillingly, or with someone's help." Persephone presses up against her husband, seeking the warmth of the man's body.   
  
"And what about the gladiator and his lover?" Hades wraps his strong arms around her, resting his chin on her head and inhaling the besotting aroma of his wife's hair.  
  
"Why don't we leave it to them?" she asks playfully and plants a short kiss on the man’s lips.   
  
"Fair enough," Hades chuckles. "Come with me, I want to show you a beautiful flower I found today." 

* * *

He does not want to open his eyes. A blissful feeling of warm rays against his skin is too dear to let go. What if he opens them and the ultimate feelings of love and happiness fade away?   
  
His fingers twitch slightly, feeling the dewy grass against his skin. He must be in a meadow then. And as if to confirm this the scent of wild chamomiles suddenly hit his nose. Hmm, how strange. Where did these flowers come from? Wild chamomiles have always been his favorite flowers. 

Gingerly, not wanting to scare away the delightful dream, he opens his eyes and gasps softly when the dream does not vanish. On the contrary, it becomes even more realistic and the young man rubs his eyes.   
  
"Where am I?" he asks in awe, looking around and finding himself in a vast, green field full of wild flowers. He looks down at himself. His white tunic glows blindingly under the summer sun and smells of flowers and fresh grass.   
  
The young man laughs heartily kneeling down and caresses the tiny petals of flowers. The touch is soft and loving. And it brings distant memories. And then comes the sadness.   
  
"Quintus," the young man's lips murmur. "I miss you so much."   
  
His eyes begin to fill with tears when there is a slightest movement behind his back and then strong arms encircle him in an embrace and a gentle voice whispers:  
  
"Who said that I don't miss you too?"  
  
The young man lets out a startled yelp but before he does anything else he's turned around and met with a pair of familiar green eyes.  
  
"Quintus…"   
  
"Did you wait for someone else?" Quintus Atticus laughs.  
  
"Oh gods," the young man stops trying to fight against his tears and they flow down freely.   
  
"Now now, Demetrius, stop crying you little fool. I'm here and not going anywhere," Quintus croons, pressing the smaller man against his chest. But the boy still weeps.  
  
"I'm so happy. I'm so happy to see you!" he repeats over and over, clutching at the gladiator.   
  
"Me too, Demetrius, me too." Quintus keeps caressing his lover's soft hair. "And there is one more thing I wanted to tell you. But I never had time before."  
  
"Really?" the young man pulls away, staring at the gladiator curiously. "What is it?"  
  
Quintus smiles affectionately, wiping away the stray tears that roll down the beautiful Greek boy's cheeks.  
  
"I love you."   
  
Demetrius gasps. His trembling fingers touch the Roman’s lips.   
  
"Do you really mean it?"   
  
Quintus nods and then leans forward. Their lips meet in a slow but emotional kiss.   
  
After what seems like eternity they pull apart panting, flushed and both hard as rock.   
  
"Where are we?" Demetrius asks, while helping his lover and getting rid of the clothes.  
  
"We're dead and I suppose in Elysium," Quintus mutters, as he keeps nipping at the young man’s delicate skin. "But it does not matter."  
  
"Why?" Demetrius whimpers, when he's laid on the ground and soft lips begin to shower his naked body with kisses.  
  
"Because we are together forever and that's what matters."   
  
Demetrius moans his agreement and closes his eyes.   
  
Indeed, nothing else matters. 

 

 

                                                              **_Sleep, beloved, and may you dream of the path woven from the dust of stars,_**

**_taking us to eternity. © the author of the fic_ **


End file.
